


To Join Two Kingdoms

by Helenatrix



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: All the sexy stuff, Anal Sex, Angst, Building a Kingdom, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Behavior, Coming Untouched, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Past Child Abuse, Patras, Post-Canon, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, Torgeir is not a good guy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-01-03 01:10:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 57,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21170948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helenatrix/pseuds/Helenatrix
Summary: Kastor and the Regent have been defeated. Akielos and Vere have been won. But to join two kingdoms will be no easy task.In the chaos of the battle for Akielos, the Regent has escaped, taking with him some of the hopes of a peaceful transition. While Damen and Laurent seek to build a new kingdom, free from slavery and the prejudices of the past, many enemies strive to destroy the world they wish to create.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back! 
> 
> I've been consumed by the Captive Prince fandom for a WHILE now but hadn't had the courage to start a fanfic until very recently, though this idea has been bouncing around my brain since I read the books last December. 
> 
> I LOVE everything about these books. They've literally become one of my very favorite series EVER. This idea came about because I thought it was just a tad anti-climactic for the Regent to be executed off-screen while so much angst was unexplored. PLUS he was such a good villain. We all HATED him and what he stood for. He went down too easy and I do LOVE angst. So here I am adding a bit more angst to this already angsty fandom. 
> 
> Forewarning, this story will delve into some not so nice topics - topics that have already been pretty heavily explored in the books so if you've read them, you'll probably be fine :) 
> 
> This story is set post-canon and the ONLY divergence is that instead of having the Regent executed on the spot, Laurent makes the decision to have him imprisoned instead. Annnnd we'll take it from there!

He had promised himself that he would never allow it to happen again. Hot hands tumbling over his body, scratching claw marks over his reddening skin. Desperately, so desperately, he tried to clench the tears back, to stop them from falling down his face. He refused to allow his weakness to show. But in those deep, burning green eyes, he could see piercing steel blue reflected, and as the coarse patch of facial hair scoured his back, his mind raced remembering. Remembering the face of another…smiling…hurting him…hurting him…making him bleed.

Laurent was a child again, naked in his uncle’s bed. Vulnerable, broken, helpless, defeated. And there was nothing…no one...who could protect him now.

* * *

It had all happened so fast. Laurent had had only moments to give the order to take his uncle in chains, to bind him and lock him away in the dungeons of Akielos. While so many eyes had looked on, desiring his uncle’s execution, Laurent had had only moments to realize that he was unable to give that order. He was unable to watch his uncle put to death. So instead he had ordered him to be bound and taken away. To be dealt with later. But so many things had come first. Kastor’s near escape. Damen’s wounds. Laurent’s revenge. 

In the moments after Kastor had fallen, Laurent’s only priority was Damen, the man who had given him everything…who had also taken so much away. As the bells tolled the rise of a new King in Akielos, a feeling of completeness overwhelmed Laurent. Holding his wounded warrior to his heart, he almost forgot about his uncle, shaking in a dank and dark prison underground. It seemed only fitting to him now that after everything, death should await the man who had taken his childhood, who had almost stolen his crown. So why has he so opposed that justice? His head hurt. Now was not the time to ponder such trivialities.

Damen’s eyes fluttered closed as he succumbed to his wounds and Laurent gently brushed a strand of dark brown hair back from his forehead, noting the sheen of sweat that had accumulated. How he loved this man…though he had yet to admit those words aloud. Was it possible, truly possible, to reunite the kingdoms of Akielos and Vere? To bring back together the lands that had become mortal enemies, that held so much hostility and animosity and prejudice between them?

If loving Damen, forgiving him of everything, had proven anything to Laurent, it was that it was possible. It had to be.

From behind him, Laurent could hear desperate footsteps racing up the stairs. “Damen! Damianos!” The footsteps stopped. “What have you done? What happened here?”

Nikandros. Laurent did not take his eyes from Damen’s face as he calmly said, “Find Paschal. Damen has been injured. Kastor is dead.”

Silence. Laurent knew Nikandros was observing his surroundings, taking in the blood and the chaos. Kastor’s dead body. Damen in Laurent’s arms.

“_ You _ did this?” The deep voice was hesitant, almost frightened.

“Did you not hear me? Damen is _ injured _.” Finally, Laurent brought his narrowed eyes to meet Nikandros’s, his brows drawn and his jaw squared. “Find Paschal or risk losing him.”

As Nikandros turned on his heel and began to run, Laurent turned back to Damen. Though his hands were shaking, he felt sure in his assessment of Damen’s wounds. Damen was not going to die, but it was best that those around them fear the worst. Laurent would take no chances at losing this man. Not now. Not ever.

“Laurent…” His name escaped Damen’s lips in a soft moan, the sound reverberating through Laurent, warming its way into his soul. Hesitantly, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Damen’s forehead, cherishing their closeness. They were alive. All their enemies had been defeated. They had the rest of their lives to begin, side by side.

He could have scoffed at his own naivete. What would come next would not be easy. So their enemies had been defeated…would not more arise? It was an illusion to think that there would be peace after such an enormous upheaval. But for a moment, all Laurent wanted was to bask in this feeling, this euphoria, this calm before the inevitable storm.

Laurent held tight to Damen until Paschal arrived with Nikandros and several other Akielion guards in tow. He watched with studious and attentive eyes as Paschal began to tend to the wound on Damen’s side, cleaning it with a damp cloth and giving orders to the men around them. When finally Damen had been prepped enough to be moved, Nikandros lifted his King to his chest and carried him toward the King’s chambers. Chambers that only hours before had belonged to Damen’s traitorous bastard brother…and now belonged to King Damianos of Akielos.

Laurent followed behind, weariness settling in his bones. Now was not the time to rest. Damen needed him. Part of Laurent feared that in letting Damen out of his sight for only a moment, he might risk losing him forever. If Laurent had learned one thing in his twenty years of life, it was that those he loved were the most fragile, the most easy to lose. He wouldn’t leave Damen now, at his most vulnerable.

As Nikandros settled Damen on the made bed in his new quarters, Laurent’s eyes never left his lover’s sleeping form. Silence surrounded them then, as Paschal leaned in close and pressed a cloth to Damen’s head. From the corner of his eye, Laurent could feel Nikandros’s cold glare. He crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to acknowledge the scowl he knew was etched over those dark features.

“You going to tell us what happened, _ Your Highness?” _ That voice was harsh, the tone tinged with a sharpness Laurent had grown used to over the past several months.

“Kastor attacked Damen. After they fought, he stabbed him with the intent to kill him. I stepped in.”

“You killed him.”

Laurent’s lips drew together tightly. “I did.”

“It’s interesting that there is no one around to corroborate that story…”

Laurent rolled his eyes, still not meeting those of Nikandros. “Damen will corroborate when he wakes.”

“_ If _ he wakes. And you better hope he does.” Nikandros had drawn nearer. Though Laurent still refused to look at the barbarian, he could feel the warmth of his breath as the larger man leaned over him. “If any further harm comes to him…”

“If any further harm comes to him, it won’t be at my hand. In case you haven’t noticed, he is quite good at getting himself maimed and wounded,” Laurent spat. Finally, their eyes met, cold blue steel meeting hot chocolate amber. Laurent could feel the power and force radiating from the Kyros, this man who loved Damen perhaps as much as Laurent himself did. Laurent forced himself not to look away.

“Your Highness!” Jord’s panicked voice abruptly broke Laurent’s focus and he turned to see his Captain, trembling wide-eyed in the doorway. “It’s your uncle…he’s…gone…”

Laurent’s heart skipped a beat in his chest as the world crashed down around him. “Gone?”

“He’s not in his cell. We…can’t find him anywhere.” Jord’s eyes held a terror Laurent had rarely seen. After everything they had fought for, everything they had achieved, this one moment, this one mistake could ruin it all.

“Send a search team to surround the palace. Find him.” Laurent did his best to keep the fear from his voice, but he could feel the tremble reverberating through his core. He watched Jord’s retreating form disappear from sight with his heart in his throat. This couldn’t be. It _ couldn’t _.

Again, he could feel the weight of Nikandros’s stare pressing down on him. “So what now?”

“Now, we find my Uncle and this time, we don’t hesitate. I’ll execute him myself if I have to.”

“Well now we know you’re capable of it…Killing kings seems to be your specialty…”

“My uncle is not the king. He never was.” Laurent’s voice was terse, his tone clipped, though rage flooded his body at those thoughtless words. 

Movement at Damen’s bedside drew Laurent’s eyes as Paschal rose to his feet. His knowing look met Laurent from behind his glasses, seeing everything Laurent so desperately wanted to hide. This was the man who had seen the worst of which Laurent’s uncle was capable, this man who knew how deep were the wounds with which his uncle had left him.

“Your Highness,” he said calmly, silently acknowledging the anxiety Laurent knew must be visible on his face. “Perhaps you should take a rest, clean yourself up. With your uncle displaced, your country needs you now more than ever. We should not take longer than necessary to return to Vere.”

His words startled Laurent, though he knew the truth behind them. If he was to make his claim to the throne known, he must act quickly, while the timing was right. But he could not help his eyes drifting back to Damen’s slumbering form. How helpless he looked when he slept. It was all Laurent could do not to approach the bed and wrap himself around that large bulk of a man.

“I won’t leave him. Not until he’s well enough to lead.”

Nikandros stirred impatiently where he stood. “And you think you’re to rule in his stead, then? Two kingdoms at your command?”

“I have no desire to rule Akielos, _ Kyros _. Your King is more than capable of ruling from his bedside. But there is much to be done. And this country cannot wait for Damen to wake. The people need action. They need to know that those loyal to Kastor will be rooted out and made to kneel.”

“And our brother of Vere will be the one to make them kneel?”

Laurent nodded. “I will do what I must to secure this kingdom for Damen. He would have done...he _ did _ do the same for me and mine.”

Nikandros was watching him now with suspicious eyes. He remained silent, but Laurent could tell there would be no winning his trust…at least not yet. 

Paschal seemed uneasy, twisting his hands as he observed Laurent. “Your Highness, I really must insist on haste. Vere needs its King.”

Laurent nodded. “Vere will have its king. But not before Akielos has theirs. We will return to Vere after Damen’s coronation. We’ll begin plans immediately.”

“And if he doesn’t recover?” Nikandros’s voice was hard.

“He will,” Laurent said, willing it into reality.

That night and the following, Laurent stayed by Damen’s bedside. Damen tossed and turned, returning to coherency for a few hours at a time but never enough to begin to form the plans necessary to establish his rule. So Laurent did what he could, paving the way for the new King of Akielos to rule, all the while praying to whatever gods existed that his uncle would be found.

It was on the third morning, just after reveille, that Laurent felt a soft hand trace the side of his face, waking him from a fitful sleep. He had allowed himself to settle on the bed beside Damen the night prior, atop the covers so as not to disturb him or further jostle his wounds. Waking up to those deep brown eyes studying him with such wonder made him feel a flush crawl up his neck and over his face.

“You’re awake,” he whispered, pleased to see the soft smile turn up the corners of Damen’s lips.

“I’m _ alive_, thanks to you.”

Laurent felt a shudder of guilt. “Kastor…”

Damen’s fingers pressed against Laurent’s lips ever so gently. “Don’t speak of it. You saved my life. You did what was necessary. As you always do.”

“There was a part of me…a foolish, soft part…that worried my great barbarian might not wake up…” Laurent attempted a smile but the reality of those words consumed him. How close he had come…how close they had both come…to losing this forever.

“Is that why you stayed by my side day and night? Worried of losing me…?” Though Laurent knew Damen was teasing him, he couldn’t help the words that came next.

“I _ can’t _ lose you, Damianos.”

Seriousness settled over Damen’s face as he studied Laurent, who, for all his frigid exteriors, felt vulnerable, exposed, even _ fragile _ when scrutinized under that gaze. Damen shifted closer, close enough that their lips might touch, as he whispered, “You won’t. You never will. I’m yours. Body and soul.”

Their lips crashed together then, with a desperation so strong Laurent felt he might break. His heart was pounding in his chest as Damen’s hands raked over his body, slipping around the small of his back, pulling him even closer. Damen’s panting breaths were the only sign of his exertion, but it was enough to bring Laurent back to reality. He pulled away slowly, his heart pounding against his ribcage as his hunger refused to subside.

“Damen…we can’t…you’re injured.”

“I’m fine,” Damen growled. “I know you can be gentle…”

Damen was nuzzling closer, his nose grazing over that delicate, sensitive spot just under Laurent’s ear and Laurent could feel his self-control fading. He felt his fingers twine themselves into the soft curls of Damen’s hair as his pulse continued to rise. Through the blankets that separated them, Laurent could feel the evidence of Damen’s arousal as it pressed against his thigh.

“Gods, you’re so beautiful,” Damen whispered and the words made Laurent tremble.

_ You’re such a beautiful boy. _

He gasped, his breath stuttering in his chest. But Damen, unaware of Laurent’s discomfort, continued, pressing kiss after kiss to Laurent’s neck, his jaw, his chin, his lips. As Damen’s hands began to wander, pulling at the constricting laces of Laurent’s clothes, Laurent felt his chest tighten, felt waves of panic begin to overwhelm him.

_ You’re so good, Laurent. Such a good, beautiful boy. _

“Damen…Damen…stop. Stop!” Laurent’s voice was constricted, his hands shaking so badly he forced them to his sides to hide their trembling from Damen. But the damage had been done. Damen had seen_ . _ And for all Laurent’s attempts to remain stoic and immovable, to keep this part of himself from the man he loved, Damen had _ seen_.

“Laurent…” Damen choked out, but shamed, Laurent pulled away, sitting up on the bed and turning his back to Damen.

They had done this before…this time was no different…

But his uncle had escaped. And suddenly, everything _ was _different.

Laurent felt the bed shift as Damen moved closer to him. “You should not be moving - !” he tried, but Damen was already close enough to touch. The plait of golden hair he had hastily tied back was gently brushed away from his neck as Damen gently rested his head on Laurent’s shoulder. It was a comforting gesture. A gesture that did not push nor pry. Laurent was thankful for it. For this man he did not deserve.

“My uncle has escaped,” he said softly, feeling Damen stiffen against him.

“When?”

“I’m not sure. I’m assuming during the scramble to find Kastor…My uncle has men who remain loyal to him. A portion of the Kingsguard disappeared along with him. Undoubtedly to steer him to safety – “

“Those traitors!” Damen pulled away, baring his teeth in a snarl. His hasty movement caused him to hiss and press a hand to the wound at his side, and Laurent reached out to steady him.

“Stay still,” he growled, though there was no real bite to his tone. “You’ll only hurt yourself more, you great brute.”

“Where? Where do you think he’s gone?” Damen’s face was a mix of pain and rage. Laurent’s heart raced at the sight.

“My uncle has many allies. If I were to guess, Patras would be his most likely option.”

“Patras? You mean…Torveld?”

Laurent nodded. “His brother Torgeir is King and a long time supporter of my Uncle’s. Why do you think I was so desperate to win Torveld’s support?”

“But Patras came to our aid…”

“And took a great risk in doing so. I’m not sure that Toveld consulted his brother on that matter…At the time, Torgeir’s support didn’t matter to me. But, Patras is a slave-trading nation. Before…” he hesitated. “My uncle was in talks of re-establishing the slave trade in Vere.”

Damen seemed frozen, horrified. Given what he had experienced…at Laurent’s own hand…this was not a shock to Laurent.

Laurent continued. “The slave trade is a lucrative business. One that has no doubt been extremely beneficial to the Patran economy. Torgeir won’t take lightly to a threat of its abolishment.” His eyes met Damen’s knowingly. Though they hadn’t spoken of it, he knew Damen’s intentions. “When Akielos ends their slave trade to Patras, that relationship may flounder. My uncle knows this. Torgeir knows this. We may make enemies of Patras yet.”

“Then we head them off. We write to Torgeir and demand your uncle’s surrender. Establish good terms, treaty for peace.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It _ is _ that simple, Laurent. I won’t let him go unpunished.” _ For what he did to you, _remained unsaid. But the deep sincerity in Damen’s eyes set Laurent’s heart on fire with an overwhelming feeling of love. He did not deserve this man whose love was so pure and so unblemished by the scars of a hateful past. For all the hurts and cruelties he had faced, Damen had come out the other side unscathed, innocent, pure. Laurent wished he could say the same for himself.

“My uncle will not get far. But there is a great need for my return to Vere. To stake my claim and prevent him from moving against me to reclaim the throne.” His heart panged at the words, throat tightening. “You understand this, don’t you? I can’t stay in Akielos much longer.”

The hurt was evident on Damen’s face, though he did his best to hide it. He nodded solemnly and Laurent watched his adam’s apple bob heavily in his throat. “Yes,” he said. “And I’ll go with you.”

Laurent felt his lips twitch unwittingly into a small smile. “Not yet, Damen. You’re needed here.”

“It’s not safe for you to go alone - !” Damen protested.

“I won’t be alone. I’ll take Jord and my men with me. Besides, it's not as if I’m particularly defenseless. I’ve felled my share of barbarians...”

“You assume the men left behind are loyal to you…”

Laurent nodded. “Yes. That is a rather large assumption given the present circumstances.” Perhaps there was no one in this world that Laurent could really trust. No one but Damen. 

“I’ll kill him, Laurent.” Damen’s voice was all at once vicious and heady, potent and filled with passion. Laurent couldn’t turn his eyes away. “I should have killed him in the Kingsmeet. After. In the throne room. I shouldn’t have hesitated. I failed you. I won’t fail you again.”

“You’ve never failed me, Damen. Since we met, you’ve challenged every notion I had about Damianos of Akielos. My uncle’s escape was not your fault. It was mine. There was a part of me that was…too weak to see him killed. A spiteful, sick part of me that still…” He allowed his voice to trail away, disgusted with himself. But that part of him, that little boy without a family, terrified and alone, it still existed within him as a man. And perhaps that part of him still felt something akin to love for the only family he had left.

Damen’s arms were circling around him then, enveloping him in warmth and comfort and peace. Damen’s face was pressed into the crook of his neck, and there, those beautiful, kind lips whispered, “I will never allow him to hurt you again, Laurent. You’re safe. You’re safe with me.”

Safe. How Laurent had so longed to feel that way, ever since childhood. But with Damen, he realized, he did feel safe. With Damen, he felt everything for which he had so desperately craved. He allowed himself to sink back into Damen, to be cradled and held, to melt into those strong arms that radiated warmth, that promised to protect, to own, to keep.

Damen’s lips again found Laurent’s, and he couldn’t repress the soft moan that escaped him. He might have felt embarrassed, had Damen not seemed to relish it, absorbing that sound into his own mouth with a crashing wave of passion as his tongue slipped between Laurent’s lips.

“I want you, Laurent,” Damen whispered, his voice a rough gravel that travelled straight to Laurent’s groin. “I need you. Now.”

“Your side -!”

“Is fine. Please.” The hands tangled in Laurent’s hair coaxed and teased, while those full lips begged, laying kiss after kiss on the sensitive skin of Laurent’s neck. It was all he could do to allow himself to unwind, to be lifted from the edge of the bed and lain across the mattress on his back. “I need to feel you. Let me feel you, Laurent.”

Damen was in between Laurent’s legs now, writhing up against him, warming the fabric over his straining cock. Laurent swallowed hard, nodding as he clenched his eyes shut. Damen’s hands were cascading down the laces of his jacket, lithely pulling the fabric open with an ease Laurent himself had not yet mastered. Everything Damen did was so perfectly easy, so carefree and untroubled. Laurent envied him that ease, and so allowed himself to be consumed by it.

Before he knew it, his jacket was open, baring the white fabric of his undershirt. Damen unlaced Laurent’s breeches and pulled them down before discarding them on the floor, and Laurent gasped at the feeling of the cool air on his exposed skin. Already, his member was hard, dripping, aching to be touched, but Damen’s hands were too busy sliding up his chest, caressing his nipples, tracing over his pale skin.

“Damen,” Laurent hissed impatiently, his own hands sliding to cup the perfectly round globes of Damen’s already bared ass. “Touch me. Please.”

Damen grinned, showing a perfect set of glimmering white teeth. He was truly glorious, masculine, beautiful. Laurent flushed under his penetrating gaze. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

Laurent threw his head back with a cry as Damen’s large, warm hands clasped around his cock. Damen’s lips covered Laurent’s, stealing the gasp from his mouth. His hand was big enough to take both of their members together and the friction of Damen’s cock against his had Laurent squirming in desperation. His fingers clawed along the smooth planes and ridges of Damen’s muscular back, dipping and diving over the rough scars that trailed across his dark skin. Scars that Laurent had given. Scars he could not erase. 

At that moment, Laurent wanted nothing more than the feel of Damen inside of him, as if the press of a thick cock could grant him forgiveness for all the wrongs he had performed. As if taking Damen inside could erase all the horrible thoughts and feelings and actions Laurent had taken against him.

“Damen, fuck me,” Laurent purred into Damen’s ear, his fingers continuously circling the scars on Damen’s back. That tattered skin grounded him, reminded him of the reality of this shared moment. 

“I don’t have oil…” Damen responded between rough kisses. 

Laurent shook his head. “We don’t need it. Fuck me. Do it.”

Damen pulled away, if only ever so slightly. Just enough to break the desperation of the moment and lock his dark eyes on Laurent’s. “I won’t hurt you.” 

“I don’t care!” Laurent choked out, but the look on Damen’s face ended his dissent, killing it as it escaped his lips.

“I do.” Damen leaned down and brought a kiss to Laurent’s forehead. Another to his nose and another to the sharp cut of his jaw. Laurent could feel the rumble in Damen’s chest, the deep and vibrating desire that was coursing through him, setting him on fire from the inside out. Laurent wanted that fire to consume him as well. “Besides there are other ways of finding our pleasure.”

Those words, the deep tenor of Damen’s voice, had Laurent swallowing hard. Damen’s lips were trailing down Laurent’s chest now, settling over first one nipple and then the other, sucking hard until Laurent cried out. 

Damen continued to work his way down Laurent’s already trembling body, finally planting his nose in the soft golden curls just above Lauren’t hardened cock. Laurent could feel a chill as Damen breathed in, inhaling the scent that was entirely Laurent’s alone. It was so utterly intimate, Laurent had to fight the desire to shove Damen away. 

“What...what are you - ?” he gasped, only to be cut off as Dament took him fully inside his mouth. All at once, enveloped in warmth and wetness, Laurent tumbled back to the bed, his fingers tangling tightly in the sheets beneath him. His eyes rolled back in his head as soft moans burbled intelligibly from his lips. 

He was a man undone. Truly. Completely. Nothing else in the world mattered but the soft tongue lapping at the most sensitive part of him and the waves of pleasure that tore through him, engulfing him completely. 

Damen pulled away abruptly, breaking contact to slip a finger into his mouth and fully coat it with a thick layer of his own saliva. Their eyes locked for only a moment before that same finger slid inside Laurent’s opening to be enveloped by his heat. Laurent cried out in agonized pleasure, pushing back on that finger as Damen placed his mouth back around Laurent’s cock. The feeling of fullness consumed Laurent as he thrust forward into Damen’s finger and his mouth at the same time. He could feel tears coming to his eyes as he reached his peak. 

“Damen, I’m coming...I’m - !” He dug his fingers tightly into Damen’s soft curls, his sharp nails digging into Damen’s scalp. 

The movement of Damen’s mouth didn’t stop and Laurent cried out as he emptied his seed into warmth and wetness, surrendering to the total bliss and euphoria of his own release. He shivered with sensitivity as Damen swallowed him down and flushed to see Damen lick his lips as if just having devoured the most delicious meal. When Damen dipped back down to kiss him, Laurent did not pull away. He met those swollen lips with tenderness, opening his own to toy with Damen’s tongue, tasting remnants of himself in Damen’s mouth. 

_ I love you. _He wanted to say it. Yet, in spite of everything they had gone they had experienced side by side, in spite of the passion they had just shared, he could not bring himself to say those three words that seemed to mean so much and not enough at the same time. 

He reached down between Damen’s legs, expecting to find his desire solid and aching, but instead finding a flaccid member and a thick wetness painting the sheets. 

“Did you - ?” he asked, and Damen smirked. 

“I enjoy seeing you enjoy yourself.”

Laurent raised a brow in amusement. “Coming untouched is a new trick, even for one so _ experienced _as you. I’m not sure whether to be insulted or impressed.”

Damen rolled to his side, then pulled Laurent into his arms so they were facing each other. “Take it as a compliment. You...do things to me I’ve never quite experienced before.”

“Mmm...but perhaps I wanted to...do things to you now…” Laurent grinned mischievously, allowing a finger to trail down the muscles of Damen’s chest. 

With a gentle smile, Damen leaned in and pressed his lips to Laurent’s. “We have time, lover. We have the rest of our lives.”

_ The rest of our lives. _Laurent wished he could see things the way Damen did. Simply and without fear. Entangled in Damen’s arms, Laurent realized there was no other place in the world that would ever feel more like home. He couldn't lose this. He needed to cherish this and every moment he was given with this man. He nuzzled closer and pressed a kiss to the underside of Damen’s jaw, watching a small smile curl up at the corner of Damen’s lips. 

“I never want to let you go,” Damen said softly. His finger traced soft circles on Laurent’s naked shoulders, sending up goosebumps in its wake. 

“I’ll stay until your coronation,” Laurent said softly. “In a few days time, you will be named King Damianos of Akielos. You always have been. The coronation will only make official what has always been so.”

Damen glanced down at him, trapping Laurent’s eyes in his gaze. “I want to be King by your side.”

Laurent’s heart began to race, the profoundness of those words seeping deep into the recesses of his mind. He had known Damen’s intentions, as they matched his own. But to hear those words spoken out loud truly solidified that desire within him. 

“To join two kingdoms…” he trailed off, his mind running in anxious circles, already anticipating the heavy burden they would share.

“It was one kingdom once,” Damen repeated those same words that had been echoing through Laurent’s mind since he had first uttered them. 

“It will be no easy task,” Laurent insisted, moving closer still to bury himself in Damen’s warmth.

“I think we’re up to the challenge.” Damen pressed an easy kiss into Laurent’s scalp, and Laurent could feel the contented sigh as it resonated through Damen’s expansive chest. 

Over the course of the next few days leading to Damen’s coronation, Laurent barely slept, in favor of spending as much time as possible by Damen’s side. Their upcoming separation caused tension and anxiety to creep up his spine, tying him in knots from the inside out. Though he did his best to spare Damen that impending dread, Laurent knew Damen could read it as plainly as if it had been written upon his face. 

They stole as many moments together in solitude as was possible. But as Damen healed, more and more of his responsibilities began to appear, demanding more and more of his time. It was as inevitable and full of hope as the rising dawn, and Laurent was happy to see Damen lead. But the nagging and persistent reminder of their separation loomed over him like a storm cloud on the horizon. 

The morning of the coronation, Laurent saw to the decorations in the palace courtyard where Damen would be presented to his people as their king. Full and beautiful while lilies were draped together in strands and hung from the balustrades, creating a frame through which the people would see their new king anointed. The surrounding pillars were covered in drapings of gold and red, colors representing power and fertility to the Akielion people. Though the scene was a stunning vision of the future and what it would hold, to Laurent, it was an end to what had been. And perhaps that was not such a bad thing. But still he could not shake the feeling of unease. 

His uncle still had not been found. Laurent’s return to Vere could not be forestalled any longer. So they had one more day and one more night. Then everything would change. 


	2. Chapter 2

Laurent had never seen anything so magnificent, so entrancing, as Damen as he stood beneath the laurels of lilies with his brown curls tustled about by the gentle morning breeze. In all his glory, in front of the backdrop of the Akielion gardens, Damen looked _devastating. Like_ _a_ _King, _Laurent thought. Laurent watched from the back of the courtyard, with Jord by his side, as Damen bowed his head and repeated the mantra of his predecessors, words that gave him the power to become King of Akielos. 

“I Damianos of Akielos, first of my name, do hereby swear to defend and protect the people of Akielos from this day forward until my last day. I swear fealty to them as if they were my Lords and Ladies and I their humble servant. I swear to uphold my vows to them, to put them first in all things, to honor them and seek their counsel during the trials and tribulations of my reign. I swear to hold their best interests in my heart, to act in accordance with their wishes and to honor them as I would a lover or a friend. 

“Let my hands be the tools that guide them, let my heart beat to the same rhythm as theirs. Let my mind always think of them first, let my reign bring them honor, prosperity and peace. These vows I do solemnly swear. From this day to my last day.”

The surrounding throng of onlookers broke into cheers and thunderous applause as Damen took a knee, bending low enough that a shimmering gold crown could be placed upon his head. The smile that broke across his face was stunningly beautiful, full of real joy. Laurent felt his heart could break watching that beauty. This man was meant to be king. 

The next several hours saw Damen caught up in a whirlwind of festivities, drinks forced into his hand and salted meats pressed against his lips. Laurent watched from a short distance, determined not to interject himself into the celebrations. Today was about Damen’s ascension. And though Laurent desperately wanted to be by Damen’s side, perhaps it was best to remain near the edges of the fray. Still, to Damen’s people, Laurent was the cold and aloof prince of Vere. Akielion eyes passed over him with uneasy glances and suspicious stares. Though Damen’s trust of him was obvious, the people of Akielos would not be so easily swayed. And perhaps it was better that way. 

As the celebrations moved into the palace, Laurent saw himself swept into the banquet hall where an elaborate feast had been laid out to serve the nobility of Akielos and all its respected guests. He watched as Damen was fawned over, congratulated and slapped on the back. He was beaming, smiling from ear to ear and Laurent’s heart swelled watching him be who he was always meant to be. Damen was good at this. Better than Laurent could have even imagined. Perhaps better than Laurent himself. 

As the drinks began to flow, Laurent watched from the back of the hall, taking in the nobility around him. He was mostly ignored and passed over, left alone to observe and take in the comings and goings of the extravagant hall and all its occupants. Mostly, though, his eyes were for Damen alone.

“He’s rarely taken his eyes off you,” said a deep and gruff voice near Laurent’s left ear. Makedon. In all of Laurent’s quiet observations, he had not heard the Commander’s approach. He smirked despite himself as he turned to meet that grizzled face and those deeply lined brown eyes. 

“Makedon,” he acknowledged the _ man _without acknowledging his statement, but Makedon continued slyly. 

“You’re not doing yourself any favors by hiding out in the shadows with me.” Laurent raised an eyebrow. Since when did he start taking advice from old Akielion war chiefs? Makedon’s smile showed a row of crooked teeth. “Though I do have need of a drinking partner for the night.” He rustled in the folds of his chiton to withdraw a bottle of the thick liquid Laurent knew to be Griva. 

“I think I’ll pass tonight. I have a long journey ahead of me tomorrow and would prefer not to be hanging over my horse’s saddle.”

Makedon smirked as he uncapped the bottle and took a long swig of its contents. “A wise decision, I suppose. But in the meantime, would you deny a new King the desires of his heart?” It was Makedon’s turn to raise a thick black eyebrow in a coy expression.

“And what would you suggest?” 

“Stand by his side. Show your support. The people will begin to see what the rest of us do. But only if you allow them to.”

“Tonight is not about me.”

Makedon chuckled, taking another drink. “Perhaps it should be.”

Laurent watched Makedon’s face as it reddened with drink. He considered the implications of those words. As his eyes turned back to Damen, he realized the truth of Makedon’s first assessment. _ He’s rarely taken his eyes off you. _Damen’s wide brown eyes were indeed on Laurent, watching with a slight smile on his face. Laurent felt himself flush. How had he not noticed? How had he not felt the heat of that gaze?

Beside him, Makedon chuckled. “You should go to him. Show the people that Laurent of Vere is not so icy as he seems.”

Laurent crossed his arms in front of his chest protectively. “Perhaps I like them to think me _ icy _.”

“Right now is not the time for coldness, Your Highness. If you want the people to embrace you, you must show them they need not fear the viper’s bite. Even snakes can be charming, can they not?” There was no missing the smile that had settled over the Akielion commander’s face. “You certainly charmed me. And I am not so easily won.”

The heat of Damen’s stare was now burning straight through Laurent as though there was no one else in the world who could hold the king’s interest. Those brown eyes burned and Laurent could feel the flames fanning around him, seeking to envelope him. 

Makedon was watching their heated exchange with a grin on his face. He held out the bottle of Griva, waving it in Laurent’s face. “Perhaps some liquid courage first?”

Without giving himself time for second thoughts, Laurent grabbed the bottle from Makedon’s hand and tossed back a single gulp. The liquid scorched over his tongue and down his throat, nearly making him gag. He would never get used to that wretched, vile tasting swill. But perhaps it was just what he needed to get through this night. 

With Makedon laughing at his back, Laurent began to move towards Damen, his eyes never leaving that devilishly handsome face. 

“Hello Your Highness,” Damne beamed as Laurent drew nearer. They did not touch but the heat of their proximity travelled down Laurent’s body, warming him from the inside out. 

“Exalted,” Laurent breathed. 

“What did you think of the ceremony?” Damen asked, a playful smile on his lips. 

“Pretentious and overbearing. Is it customary for the King of Akielos to grovel to his subjects in order to win their support?” 

Damen leaned in closer so his lips were near Laurent’s ear. “We are a humble nation. And I’m a humble man.”

“How very _ Akeilion _of you…” Laurent smirked as Damen gently wrapped an arm around his waist. So this is how it would be? Did they no longer have to be afraid to show their affection to their nations? Were they finally free?

Laurent couldn’t help himself. “So what now, King Damianos? Now that you have a kingdom at your command?”

Damen pulled Laurent to face him, staring down at him with wide eyes. “Now I declare my love for you for all the world to see. I want them all to know that you have my heart. That you share this kingdom.”

Heart in his throat, Laurent flushed, glancing around the room at the sea of faces that still looked at him as an enemy, as a coiled snake ready to strike. “Perhaps now is not the best time for such a grand gesture?”

“I would rule Akielos with you by my side as more than an ally. It's time my people knew this and accepted it. You are not just our brother of Vere, Laurent. You are home to me. Let me prove it to you.”

Laurent shuddered. He could feel so many stares. Were they accepting or resentful? Did he care? He couldn’t bring himself to turn away from Damen, so enraptured as he was by that playful smile, the dimples under his left cheek. “That’s not necessary - !” Laurent stammered but Damen shook his head. 

“I can’t wait any longer,” Damen said breathlessly, grabbing a hold of Laurent’s hand and pulling him alongside to the center of the room. 

“Damen,” Laurent hissed in a panic, but Damen only smiled. 

“Trust me,” he said softly, before putting a silver fork to the glass he was holding and drawing the attention of the assembled nobility in the room. 

“My friends,” he greeted enthusiastically, still holding Laurent’s hand in his own. “Thank you so much for your enthusiastic welcome and acceptance. I’m honored to take my place among you. After everything our kingdom has been through, the trials and betrayals we have faced, I am looking forward to ushering in a long period of peace. That begins here today. Standing beside me is our Brother of Vere, its new and rightful King. I have never before met a man with more honor, more passion, more skill. I’m honored to call him our ally and I hope you will join me in welcoming this new age of unity. 

“It is time for us to put aside our prejudices, to remember how it was not so long ago when Vere and Akielos were joined side by side not only as neighboring kingdoms and allies but as one kingdom, solidified against all its enemies. With Vere by our side, with Laurent as its king, I see a future of prosperity unlike any we have ever known. I compel you to join with me, to stand beside me, in solidarity of this alliance. Together, we will accomplish extraordinary things. I know this because my heart tells me so. In love, we can accomplish so much more than we ever thought possible.”

Laurent felt his cheeks darken as Damen turned to him and took both of Laurent’s hands in his own. “With you by my side, I know only hope. The darkness of the past is overshadowed by the array of golden light ahead of us.” Damen brought Laurent’s hand up to his lips, and in front of the entire throng of onlookers, planted a chaste kiss to the skin of his knuckles. “I’m honored to begin my reign with the King of Vere at my side.”

To Laurent’s surprise, the crowd broke out in a tenuous and hesitant drum of applause. Damen never let Laurent’s hand drop as he turned back out to face the assemblage. “And so,” he continued, “it is with great honor and pride, that I announce to you all the beginning of a new era. This day will be remembered forever as a new chapter in the book of our history. The chapter that marks the end of cruelty and prejudice, the end of the practice of slavery. Today is the day that I, Damianos, King of Akielos, ban the practice of slavery in this great nation.” 

All around, Laurent could hear gasps and tittering, harsh words and mutterings of disdain and discontent. Laurent’s heart began to pound rapidly in his chest. What was Damen thinking? Laurent’s eyes were huge widened orbs as he stared at Damen in shock. 

_ Damen, what have you done? _

Damen continued, unphased by the murmurings around him. “I know for many of you this will come as a great shock. I urge you to see the benefit and to trust my leadership. My advisors and I will begin working on the logistics at once. I know this will impact some of you more than others. This will impact our trade deals and our partnerships with other slave-holding nations. I have accounted for that. But slavery is not the answer to prosperity. It is our enemy. And like our Brother Nation of Vere, we will no longer support or condone it. In order to truly embrace this new future, we must see to it that all men and women are free people, safe and able to make their own choices.”

The crowd was beginning to converge on itself, to shuffle nearer, to yell out their dissent, but Damen silenced them with a hand. Laurent could see Nikandros begin to weave his way through the crowd, followed closely by Jord, Pallas, Lazar, other members of the King’s and Prince’s Guards. 

“I will hear all of your questions, all of your concerns. I will set aside time in the coming weeks to meet with you all personally and address any issues you take with my decision. And in time, I know you will all come to see slavery as the barbarous, atrocious and cruel practice that it is. To have one’s humanity stolen, to have one’s will broken and one’s freedom obliterated, that is no true human existence. Are we not to make this world better than how we found it? Am I not King of _ all _the people of Akielos? I beg of you, my loyal friends and subjects: trust me. I will not fail you. Now please, continue on. Eat, drink. Enjoy the hospitality of Akielos.” Laurent watched as Damen’s hooded eyes met those of Nikandros. The two exchanged knowing glances, before Damen nodded curtly, and with Laurent’s hand in his, moved through the crowd to exit the hall entirely. The sea of subjects parted for Damen in stunned silence, but no one moved to follow. And for that, Laurent was thankful. 

He followed Damen with his heart in his throat, threatening to strange him. As they neared the King’s quarters, winding down dimly lit and exquisitely emptied hallways, Laurent couldn't bring himself to speak, so flabbergasted, so outrageously stunned by Damen’s performance and his passionate words. 

There was no question, in Laurent’s mind, that Damen had suffered. As a slave, his humanity had been stolen, and at Laurent’s own hands, he had been subjected to torture and humiliation. While Laurent could not regret what he had done to the man who had killed his brother, he _ had _come to regret what he had done to the man who had stolen his heart. And that ache in his chest when he thought of his own actions, that ache felt capable of breaking him. 

Damen stood at the door of his quarters now, still holding Laurent’s hand in his own. His palm was sweating in Laurent’s but Laurent dared not move away as Damen fumbled with the key in the lock, breathless and impatient. 

“Damen…” he tried, his voice catching in his throat. 

The lock clicked in response and the door slid open. Damen began pulling him forward, shutting the door behind them without a response.

“_ Damen… _” He hated the stutter of his voice, the tremble as it escaped his lips. 

But all at once, he was pressed against the closed door frame, Damen’s hands entwined in his hair, Damen’s body pinning him against the solid wood grain. Damen’s lips were on his, bruising, panting, desperate. In that moment of passion, all Laurent’s thoughts were stolen away, all his fears and worries and trepidation vanquished by Damen’s rough hands, his desperately searching tongue. 

Damen’s hands were forceful as they tugged at the laces of his garments. They owned, claimed, took without asking. But even if he had, Laurent would not have dared to say no. The feeling of those lips on his skin was so overwhelmingly powerful, it blocked out any and all other sensations. Laurent clenched his eyes shut tight as Damen rutted against him, his cock a hard, straining thing behind the fabric of his chiton. 

Once his jacket and undershirt had successfully been removed, Laurent’s hands were drawn up and pinned above his head, rendering him servile and unable to touch. The gold bands of their matching cuffs clanged against eachother, reminding them of what they shared, the experience of slavery that had brought them together and almost torn them apart. Damen was so much stronger than him...in every way, Laurent realized. Where slavery might have broken Laurent, it had made Damen stronger. It had created in him a resolve to fight, to keep on fighting, to rage against the odds, no matter how overwhelming. 

Damen was suckling at his neck now, little nips that raced over Laurent’s sensitive skin. With all the ability of one so practiced, Damen easily slipped his grip on both of Laurent’s wrists into one of his hands so the other could tug at the pins holding his chiton together, first the one at his shoulder and then the one at his hip. In only moments, Damen was naked before him, his exposed member rubbing against the fabric of Laurent’s breeches. The friction was overwhelming and Laurent couldn’t help himself from crying out in desperation, tugging at the hand that kept both of his restrained. But Damen held fast. Stronger. So much stronger. 

After several minutes of what felt like hours of torture, Damen’s hand finally found its way to Laurent’s aching cock, cupping it through his pants. The ferocity with which Damen caressed him made Laurent afraid to speak up, to beg for release for fear of breaking the fragile and heady tension of the moment. But he _ wanted. _So badly, he wanted. Everything. To break and crumble at Damen’s feet. We wanted Damen to break him down, tear him open, piece him back together. 

Damen’s fingers were nimbly playing with the laces of Laurent’s breeches, prying them open with diligence and dexterity, and finally, Laurent’s cock sprang forward, hard and aching. He gasped as Damen’s hand circled around him, pumping in a slow and steady rhythm. Damen’s mouth was buried in Laurent’s neck now, biting and sucking. Laurent knew those lips would leave a large red welt behind, and a sick part of him thrilled at the idea of others seeing how his Akielion barbarian had marked him. 

In a series of quick and unexpected movements, Damen dropped his grip on Laurent’s wrists and hoisted Laurent’s smaller body up into his arms. Laurent’s hands, now free, buried themselves in Damen’s hair, as Laurent allowed himself to be lifted from the doorframe and carried effortlessly to the bed. As they tumbled down onto the sheets, Damen situated himself between Laurent’s parted legs. His cock pressed against Laurent’s exposed opening and Laurent swallowed back a gasp of anticipation. 

Damen’s lips were on his again, kissing with such force and passion that Laurent could barely breathe. He had never been kissed like his before, so desperately, so wildly, so ferally. He could sense Damen’s hands fumbling around in the drawer of the bedside table, but it all seemed a blur outside the passion of the kiss that him. Laurent moaned into that kiss as Damen’s tongue toyed with his, as Damen teeth nipped lightly at his bottom lip. 

In a foggy haze of pleasure and lust, Laurent faintly registered the pop of a bottle stopper, but it was not until he felt the cooly coated tip of Damen’s finger press against him that he came crashing back to reality. In utter desperation, Laurent’s fingers clawed at Damen’s back, pulling him ever closer as Laurent began pushing himself down onto Damen’s oiled finger. With reckless abandon, he moaned low and deep as he fucked himself on that finger, eyes rolling back and chest heaving. 

Laurent could feel himself panting as he opened to Damen, as Damen added another finger to accommodate Laurent’s need. Laurent’s entire body was trembling with a desire so forceful and a need so strong that his entire body ached. 

“Please…” he managed before Damen’s lips again consumed his own. 

The stretch as Damen entered him burned before erupting into a completely overwhelming molten pleasure. Laurent’s hips drove up to meet Damen’s thrusts, his pleasure cresting into a panicked frenzy to be nearer, to force Damen deeper inside. 

Damen’s hands were around his throat now, clasping the sharp lines of his jaw. It was not enough to feel like a threat, but just enough for Laurent to know. He was owned, completely and wholly, by this man, by his _ king. _He belonged to Damen alone. 

“Harder,” he pleaded and Damen complied. The girth of that member as it punched forward was enough to make Laurent feel he might break. But still he needed more. 

“Fuck, Damen. More.” His nails were clawing at Damen’s ass, keeping time with the thrusts of Damen’s hips. Again, Damen complied. His large hand moved to Laurent’s weeping cock and began stroking it in time with the motion of their joined bodies. 

Laurent’s vision began to blur as he neared his peak. He clenched his eyes shut tight, but could feel Damen’s hand wrapping around the back of his neck, could feel the soft touch of Damen’s forehead against his own. He opened his eyes to meet the sweet warmth of Damen’s gaze, and in the intensity of that moment, Laurent could feel the beginnings of orgasm washing over him. 

Damen must have seen it in his face, because in a low, almost feral voice, he purred, “Come for me,” and Laurent did as he was told. 

Only moments later, Damen’s cries of pleasure indicated his own release, and he fell, without decorum, onto the bed beside Laurent with a heaving sigh. 

As was his usual post-coital manner, Damen was now soft and compliant and ever so warm. Though the sticky wetness of their lovemaking was still plastered over Laurent’s chest and between his legs, he couldn’t help but move in closer, snuggling deeper into that radiant heat.As Damen wrapped his arm around Laurent and pulled him in closer, their eyes again connected and with a small, contented sigh, Damen breathed out, “I love you.”

_ I love you. _

Laurent’s eyes fluttered as his heart began to race. How long had it been since he had last heard those words? For a moment, he felt he couldn’t breathe. Panic threatened to overwhelm him and had it not been for those deep, warm, honest brown eyes looking back at him, he might have allowed himself to be consumed.

“Damen…” He cursed himself internally. How badly he wanted to say those words back, to give Damen the very same gift that he himself had just been given. But the last person who had said those words to him...had died on the field at Marlas a little over 6 years ago.

As if he understood Laurent’s fears and hesitation, Damen leaned in and pressed a kiss to Laurent’s forehead. That was so like Damen. Expecting nothing, so willing to give without any promise of reward or return. 

“All things in your time,” Damen said softly. “But I need you to know. I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. More than anything else in this world. My heart is yours.”

Laurent felt tears unwillingly come to his eyes and he forced himself to blink them back, turning to keep Damen from seeing the pathetic look that had been etched across his face at Damen’s words. 

“My sentimental barbarian,” Laurent sniffled, feeling Damen move to press a gentle kiss to his naked shoulder. As Damen’s lips continued down Laurent’s neck and back, Laurent’s mind began to rehash the events of the past few hours, Damen’s words, his declaration against slavery. 

“You’re thinking too much,” Damen whispered against his skin, raising goosebumps along the exposed flesh. 

“And you’re not thinking at all,” Laurent sighed. “You caused quite the stir back there.”

Damen smirked against Laurent’s skin. “Perhaps. But it needed to be done. It was _ necessary _.”

“You’ve painted a target on your back,” Laurent said, his voice clipped and terse despite the warmth of the proximity between them. “Did you bother consulting anyone on this? Nikandros? The other Kyros?”

Damen sighed, lazily lifting his head to meet Laurent’s now hardened stare. “You knew this was the only outcome. You knew this was going to happen. So did Nikandros...so did the kingdom…”

“But tonight, without thinking, without planning, you make the announcement just hours after your ascension…” There was no real anger in Laurent’s voice. But, perhaps there should have been. Perhaps he was too swayed by their lovemaking only moments before. Damen’s actions were serious. Dangerous even. 

“This is a dangerous game you’re playing, Damen. And now you’re _ king. _You hold great responsibility...and rash actions endanger you and everything you’ve fought for.”

Damen hesitated, studying Laurent with wide brown eyes. Finally, after a moment, he nodded and said, “I do hold great responsibility now. More than I have ever known. This morning, I made a promise to the people of Akielos. To _ all _ the people of Akielos. I promised to honor them, to act in their best interests. Ending slavery _ is _my responsibility.”

“You cannot eradicate all injustice in one day.”

“But it is my responsibility to try.”

Laurent sighed, running a hand through his sex-mussed hair. “You’re making enemies for yourself, Damen.”

Damen paused, studying Laurent from behind soft brown curls. “Patras?”

“Torgeir will not take kindly to the news that their primary export will now be denied by Akielos.”

“We will gladly remain open to trade with them. And perhaps Torveld can help his brother see reason - !”

“I have asked much of Torveld already,” Laurent interjected, shaking his head. “Perhaps too much.” 

Unspoken between them remained the threat of Laurent’s uncle, his whereabouts still unknown. 

Damen’s arm outstretched, grabbing a hold of Laurent’s hand and bringing it to his lips. “Laurent, can you trust me?” His voice was soft, hesitant. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Laurent pulled back on their joined hands, this time bringing Damen’s hands to his own lips. As he pressed a kiss there, he made sure to lock Damen’s eyes with his own. “It’s not myself that I worry for. You’re a good leader, Damianos. A good king. But your heart is too kind. There are those in this world who lack your sense of honor and fairplay. Those men have no remorse and will think nothing of burning down your kingdom and dancing in its ashes.”

“I have fought those kinds of men before, Laurent. I am not ignorant. But I will protect what is mine.” He sat up, cupping a hand to Laurent’s face and bringing their bodies closer together. “_ You _ are mine. Let me protect you.”

Damens cheek nuzzled against his own, radiating softness and warmth. Laurent allowed his eyes to close, feeling Damen’s breath on his neck. _ Let me protect you. _

Laurent did not _ need _protection. But perhaps, just for a little while, it might feel good to allow himself to be protected. To indulge in the idea of having someone to watch over him when for so long, there was no one but Laurent to watch over himself. 

He allowed Damen to pull him back into the sheets, to cover every inch of him in kisses. Their second round of lovemaking that night was gentler, slower, wrapped in each other’s arms. But when finally Damen was snoring beside him, Laurent felt his mind begin to wander into dark and dangerous places. Places he had hoped to be able to avoid. 

It was easy to imagine all of the ways that Damen might be hurt, all the ways that he might be used against Laurent. For Damen, great warrior that he was, was still a man. A man who had been overpowered and overthrown once before. 

With Laurent’s uncle still at large and aiming for revenge, there was only one solution. Laurent needed to get in front of any potential Patran animosity without involving Damen. He needed to use the skills he had at his disposal to protect Damen from harm and mend the relationship with Torgeir before it had a chance to break. 

Laurent would write to Torveld and pray that he had not already overstayed his welcome in the prince’s good graces. In this way, perhaps Laurent could protect Damen, while also preserving the alliance and undermining his uncle’s influence all at the same time. 

It was a terrifying realization, knowing he would again have to fight alone. But he had done it before. It was, indeed, what he was best at.

Rising from the sheets, Laurent seated himself at the writing desk across from the bed, and began to jot down his communication to Torveld. His eyes scanned over his hastily written words, praying they would be enough. While Damen still slept, Laurent summoned a messenger, determined that the letter to Patras’s youngest prince would arrive before his return to Vere. 

Climbing back into the bed beside Damen, Laurent knew that sleep, though desperately needed, would most likely not find him that night. But before he finally allowed himself the attempt, Laurent rolled to gaze at Damen’s sleeping form. _ Let me protect you, _he had said. Laurent leaned in, ever so gently, and pressed a kiss to Damen’s forehead. Against the soft brown skin, he whispered, “I love you,” hoping that perhaps in his dreams, Damen might hear it and know the truth of it. 

Damen murmured Laurent’s name in his sleep, his dark eyelashes fluttering. _ Let me protect you. _

_ No, _ Laurent realized. _ Let _ me _ protect _you.

The next morning saw Damen and Laurent saying their goodbyes before a small assembly of Akielion officials. Laurent’s guard had already mounted and prepared his horse: they watched with quiet ease as their prince hid his lover goodbye.

Damen took hold of Laurent’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Make haste, my love,” he said softly, his eyes showing pained restraint. Their awakening that morning had been filled with passion and desperate kisses, but here and now, in front of the nobles of the Akielion court, tact and decorum dictated their chasteness. 

“Be safe, Damen,” Laurent said, hoping Damen would take those words to heart. Damen smiled slightly, nodding his consent, but still his eyes held an immense sadness. Laurent had to look away. 

As Laurent turned to go, Damen pulled him back, wrapping him in an unexpected embrace. Despite his shock, Laurent allowed himself to sink into it, to feel the rise and fall of Damen’s chest, the beating of his heart against Laurent’s own. 

“I love you, Laurent,” Damen whispered into the coils of Laurent’s ear. He pulled back to press a kiss to Laurent’s forehead, his fingers cupping the base of Laurent’s neck. “I will count the hours until we are together again. You are so precious to me.”

Laurent couldn’t help himself. In front of all their onlookers, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Damen’s lips. “Until we meet again, lover,” he said softly, running a hand through Damen’s hair. 

Turning away from Damen was more painful than Laurent would have thought possible. But it was _ necessary. _ Now more than ever, Vere needed it’s King. 

His eyes met Damen’s as he mounted his horse. _ Goodbye, lover. _His heart felt it was breaking. He knew Damen watched him until his form was no longer visible on the horizon. 

_ So it begins, _he thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I'm a little late posting but wanted to get everything posted :)  
The plot thickens next chapter :) Prepare for some political intrigue. (And a little smut too!)


	3. Chapter 3

The journey to Vere was exhausting. Days on end of travel on horseback had Laurent sore and miserable, though he would never deign to let his men see the aches and stiffness that had settled in his bones. Nor the weariness that had clouded over his soul in Damen’s absence.

The last time he had made this journey, it had been in reverse, with Damen at his side. The trail was marked with memories, each one tugging at Laurent’s heart, bidding him to turn back around, to return to Akielos: to the man who has become his home. 

Laurent had expected Vere to be much the same as it always had been: opulent, prosperous, overflowing with wealth and abundance. And that much, as always, was true. But nothing could have prepared him for the welcome he received in Arles. The last time he has seen the extravagant palace of his childhood had been as he rode out with Damen, still a slave, at his side. Then, he had been a Prince shamed and dishonored. But even then, his people had greeted him with open arms and smiling faces. Now, he was coming home as a King. And his people were wild in their celebration. 

Tears streamed down smiling faces as extended hands reached out to greet him. Voices sang his praise in a cacophony of joyful and boisterous welcome. 

“Our King! Our King has returned to us!”

It had been many long months without a King for his people. Laurent could sense their relief, their pride, at his return. He would not let them down. He bent low from atop his horse, stretching out his arm to meet the hands reaching out to him, grasping each in turn. 

Laurent realized he had no words for this moment, for the feeling of thankfulness and completeness that consumed him. He felt tears come to his eyes and forced himself to blink them away. Like so many of the beautiful and wondrous things with which he had been gifted, he was not worthy of the people of Vere. Of the love they so freely gave him and the respect they so willingly bestowed upon him. 

_I will be worthy,_ he promised himself. _I will be the King they deserve. As Auguste would have been_.

The thought of his brother, as it always did, brought a lump of emotion to his throat. He was back in Arles now. Alone yet surrounded by people. Alone as he had always been alone. Arles, in all its magnificence and splendor, was a prison to Laurent.

His councilors and advisors had arrived ahead of him to get the affairs of his regime in order. Under Herode’s guidance, Laurent was sure that the leadership of Vere had been in good hands. Vannes, Audin, Herode, Berenger and the others stood at the palace steps as Laurent dismounted his horse. They observed his arrival with haughty looks of esteem and pride on their faces.

Herode was the first to greet him, pulling himself into a bow with a wizened hand held to his heart. The wrinkles of his face pulled into a genuine smile at Laurent’s approach.

“Your Highness. Vere welcomes you home.”

Laurent nodded. “I trust you’ve kept my kingdom safe in my absence.”

“Of course, Your Highness. The council looks forward to your participation. And arrangements have already begun for your coronation. In five days time, the people will see you officially crowned the new King.”

Laurent turned to dismiss Jord and his guard to the stables, before following Herode and the council inside the palace. The claustrophobia that overwhelmed him then threatened to take his breath.

“You must be exhausted from the journey. We won’t demand your presence tonight,” Vannes chimed in as they strode through the decadent halls. Her long, dark hair swung behind her as she walked toe to toe with the men of the council. “Though we do have much to discuss, Your Highness.”

“What news of my uncle?” Laurent asked. The air around them seemed to drop in temperature, the tension at the mention of the former regent palpable.

“No news, Your Highness,” Audin interjected. “If he seeks to reclaim the throne, he has not made that intention known.”

“So I’m to assume he has contacted none of you,” Laurent asked, his voice tight.

“He would not dare,” Audin replied stiffly. Laurent noted the councilor’s inability to meet his eyes. “Your uncle made his treachery known. He is an enemy of Vere. And you are the true King. This council knows it. Your people know it. No one now can contest your claim.”

The air was thick, Laurent could feel Audin’s uneasiness. He has been one of the Regent’s closest allies. To assume that bond would dissipate after only a fortnight would be foolish. But Laurent had always known to keep his enemies close. His uncle had instilled that particular value deep within him from a young age. 

Laurent sighed heavily, feeling the weariness of his travels finally settling upon his shoulders. “I hate to break up my own homecoming, but it seems I am more road-wearied than I had initially thought. I do hope you will all join me for breakfast tomorrow morning? We have much to plan.”

They nodded, all watching him with wide pairs of curious eyes. What did they expect from the frigid Ice Prince? What had they heard of his alliance with Akielos and his uncle’s usurpation? Could they really be trusted? Could anyone?

Damen had been right all along. Vere was a snake pit. And often, Laurent found, he was good at navigating its treacheries. But now he was tired and he missed Damen. Laurent missed Damen’s easy way, his trustworthy nature. His kindness and straightforwardness. Vere without Damen felt a cold, dark and dangerous place, as it always had been. But now, Laurent was completely aware of the precariousness of his surroundings, of his own vulnerability within these walls. 

He made his way towards his rooms, remembering everything. Memories flooded his head and his heart, taking ownership of him despite his best attempts to keep himself aloof and unfeeling. But instead of turning down the corridor that led to his personal chambers, Laurent made a difficult left turn instead, heading towards the rooms that had once belonged to his uncle. Rooms he had not visited nor dared trespass since he had been too young to know better. 

Laurent expected the door to his uncle’s rooms to be locked and bolted, a safe against potential intruders. But, then again, his uncle had not expected Laurent to return to Vere. So a part of him was unsurprised when the doorknob turned easily under his touch. 

It took him a moment to realize he was trembling. With a heavy breath and a racing heart, he pushed forward and the door swung open. 

And all at once, memories consumed him. 

A flash of terror, the fear of being alone without his brother. His desperation to be near the only family he had left. His uncle’s hands stroking his hair, gently ever so gently. 

The wine his uncle had given him sat heavily on his tongue. He remembered the sway of his own body as it relaxed, coaxed by the alcohol and...something else. 

He remembered crying afterwards. Bleeding. He remembered his uncle’s voice. 

_You were so beautiful, Laurent. Such a good boy. You love your uncle, don’t you, Laurent? You want to please me, don’t you? Then this must be our little secret. You understand that, don’t you? There is no one else alive who loves you. No one else who will take care of you. It’s just you and me now. So we must take care of each other. _

Tears unwillingly trickled down his face as he remembered feeling so very alone. His hands were shaking as he brought them up to his face to forcefully brush away the wetness from his cheeks. Now was not the time to muddle blindly through the past. Now was the time for action. He had to remember why he had chosen to step foot into these chambers in the first place. 

With his heart in his throat, Laurent bypassed the plushly made bed and headed towards his uncle’s writing desk. With diligent fingers, he pulled open drawer after drawer, rummaging through for any hint as to his uncle’s plan, where he might have gone, what he might have been thinking. His heart told him to look for a letter from Patras, for the golden seal of King Torgeir, the lion head swathed in silk and steel. 

But there was nothing. No notes from Torgeir, no strategies or conspiracies hidden away. Whatever schemes his uncle had made had been taken with him, forged in secret and now protected in his absence. In frustration, Laurent slammed his fist down hard on the solid oak of his uncle’s desk, rattling what sounded like a hidden compartment in one of the opened drawers. 

His heart was pounding now as he reached within and lifted, finding a hidden chamber and a note addressed to himself. Laurent, it said, in his uncle’s handwriting. And all at once, Laurent felt a wave of nausea threaten to overwhelm him. 

His usually nimble fingers would not cooperate, it seemed, as he attempted to tear open the wax seal imprinted on the back. He was shaking so badly, he could scarcely hold the note steady enough to read it, so he forced himself to lean against the desk in order to remain upright. 

_Laurent_, the letter began. 

_Where am I to even begin? If you are reading this, I am dead. Killed, most likely, on your order. Do not think me naive enough to assume you could not possibly win. You have inherited some of my cleverness, if nothing else. So I suppose this was as much a possibility as not. _

_I write this not to scorn you, Laurent, but to warn you. You have long lived your life as a spiteful, spoiled brat. To think now that you now hold a kingdom in your grasp is a troublesome thought. You do not know how to rule, Laurent. You have long hidden from responsibility, taking the darker, more sinister path through the dregs of deceit, duplicity and double_-_dealings. And now you rule over Vere. I fear for your people. I also fear for you. _

_You are well in over your pretty head now, nephew. _

_Around you lie the ashes of all those who have ever loved you. Your mother, your father, your brother. And now myself. You have killed your family, Laurent. You are responsible only for bringing shame and hurt and torment to those who would have given you everything. In the end, you chose a barbarian over us. Over the memories of your brother. What would Auguste say, seeing you lying with his killer? What have you done, Laurent? What have you done but squander his memory?_

_I leave you with these words of advice, Laurent, since I have nothing else to give. The Akielion barbarian does not love you. He loves your pretty face and your pretty blond hair and your pretty blue eyes. He has had a taste of the poison that runs through your veins. But he has not seen your core, your truth, the way that I have. I have seen every part of you laid bare. I have seen the darkness of your soul. I have seen you for what you really are. And I fear for those who get too close. Those who will inevitably rue the day they allowed themselves to try to touch, to try to love. As I did. _

_All I ever wanted was your love, Laurent. And you could never allow yourself to give that to me. You forced us to remain at odds. And why? To come to own a kingdom I was charged with keeping safe for you? It was always my intention to see you rightfully seated on the throne when you were ready. But you scorned my every attempt to humble you, to cleanse you, to kee_p _you pure. I gave you my heart, nephew. And you plunged a dagger through it. _

Laurent could scarcely breathe. It took him a moment to come back to reality, to ground himself, to remember that his uncle was not, in fact, dead. This letter was meant as a ploy to distract and confuse him. To muddle his resolve. It was yet another way that Laurent’s uncle was attempting to tear him down, to throw salt in his wounds, to make him doubt himself and his abilities. 

He clenched his fist tight, crumpling the letter in his palm. He would not allow his uncle to sully his love for Auguste. Nor his love for Damen. His uncle was a blight, a dark and callous thing that had always sought to blot out the light radiating from those around him. Laurent would not allow his uncle that hold over him, as he once had. That reign had come to an end. Laurent’s only task now was to root his uncle out and squash him underfoot. 

He turned to go, once more glancing at the room behind him. What a dark place, Laurent thought, his heart aching for all the cruelty that had taken place between these four walls. It would never happen again. Not so long as Laurent had a say. Not under his rule.

His mind drifted to Nicaise then, and a sadness overwhelmed him. In this room, where Nicaise had spent so much to his young life, there were no reminders that he had ever existed. He was simply gone, wiped from the earth by a cruel hand without remorse, without second thought. That was the way of Laurent’s uncle. Unspeakable, unthinking cruelty. He used and took without shame or respite. Laurent should have known. He should have fought harder to protect the boy. Should have done more, should have been more persuasive. Instead, Laurent had allowed his uncle to use Nicaise, to hurt him and then to kill him when he had ceased to be useful. 

The pain of Laurent’s failure toward Nicaise burned into him like a brand he would forever wear on his heart. How many more boys would he fail before his uncle was brought to justice? 

Laurent left his uncle’s chambers, slamming the door behind himself. 

The next few days leading to his coronation were filled with council meetings and plans for his upcoming ascension. Laurent fully immersed himself in active membership, consulting his advisors and seeking their guidance, winning their support. There was no news of his uncle, and Vere, it seemed, was happy to see Laurent crowned King. 

When Laurent was not invested in the tredium of his convocations, he took to the sparring ring, testing his body’s limitations against the members of his King’s Guard. Mostly, it was with Jord. The larger man’s brutish strength and overwhelming power had the ability to test Laurent’s stamina, while his calm and stoic demeanor allowed Laurent the stillness and composure to clear his head of all the negativity and turmoil that constantly seemed to plague him otherwise. 

But Jord, it seemed, was plagued by his own demons. They came often in the form of a young man with curled brown hair and striking green eyes. A young man since passed, another victim of Laurent’s uncle. 

Jord didn’t speak of Aimeric often. Perhaps the wounds were still too fresh. Or perhaps he feared that in speaking of Aimeric, he would again rehash what he felt had been a failure towards his King. But despite his anger towards Jord when Aimeric’s betrayal had first come to light, Laurent found he could not hold Jord’s searching heart against him. Had it not been the same between himself and Damen? How easily he had fallen for his brother’s killer despite his best attempts to hate him. Perhaps in the end, they were all unwitting victims of that organ that beat within their breasts, seeking love so desperately, it would stop short only of complete devastation to get it.

It was perhaps this realization that led Laurent to press Jord on the matter after one particularly strenuous sparring session several days after their return to Vere. Their match had been fair, with a series of gives and takes, Laurent’s agility easily matched by Jord’s strength. When finally they had finished, without a clear victor, they fell to the grass, matching sheens of sweat covering their brows. As Laurent passed a towel to Jord, his eyes roamed over the man’s bulky form, his sternly set brows that always seemed to be pulled together in a pained, near constipated expression. Though both men had stripped down to their thin white undershirts, Jord still seemed uncomfortable. Perhaps it was more than the exertion of the fight. Perhaps it was the company. Laurent chided himself for not addressing the distance between them sooner. 

“Jord, thank you,” he said after a quiet moment.

Jord’s eyes widened and a dark eyebrow raised in assessment of his King. “Your Highness?”

“You’re a good Captain. And a good friend. There was a time when I was afraid...I was afraid that all that had happened at Ravenal might have driven a wedge between us. I’m glad that it didn’t.”

Jord gaped, speechless, as though he was unsure of what to say. “Your Highness, I…”

“My words toward Aimeric were...cruel. Unnecessarily so. If those words caused you any additional pain, I am sorry. I know you cared for him.”

Jord flushed, turning his eyes to the ground. 

Laurent continued, pressing further, hoping he was not worsening Jord’s anguish. “I want you to know that I don’t fault you for loving a young man who seemed to love you in return. Our hearts are fickle things. And they often betray us. But that does not make the pain any less real when we are betrayed. Or when the person we love is stolen from us.”

Still, Jord’s eyes studied the green patch of earth upon which he sat. 

“Aimeric’s death was not your fault, Jord.”

The words as they left his mouth felt leaden, but they drew Jord’s gaze. The Captain nodded, though his eyes seemed glazed, filled with a wetness that only stubbornness would prevent from falling. 

“Nor was it yours, Your Highness.” Laurent balked at those words, but Jord continued. “Your uncle...” Jord’s voice was cold yet brittle. Laurent could hear a tinge of anger. 

Laurent nodded. “We must find him, Jord. Until he is found, there will be no justice for those he has wronged.” 

“He was just a boy…” Emotion choked suddenly from Jord’s mouth, and Laurent’s heart ached for him. “What kind of monster would hurt a child…?”

Jord didn’t know what had transpired between Laurent and his uncle. No one but Damen knew that twisted, sinister secret, that filthy perversion that still hung over Laurent like a dark cloud. But the look that Laurent saw in Jord’s eyes was one of deep despair. A despair for what had been done to Aimeric. There was no blame there. But Laurent felt the blame like a sword to his heart. 

“It’s my fault he is still alive,” Laurent said, and Jord’s eyes flashed to his face. “I was weak. I couldn’t see him executed. And now he has escaped justice because of my shortcoming.”

Jord shook his head, his face set, serious. “He was wicked, Your Highness. He would have weaseled his way out of his death even if you had ordered it. I don’t doubt that he has friends in the court still. We will root them out. And he will pay for what he has done.”

Stunned, Laurent allowed a small smile. “You’re a good man, Jord.”

Without hesitating, “So are you, Your Highness.” Jord flushed at his own hasty words but Laurent felt his breath catch in his chest. He felt suddenly self-conscious. Jord’s words, so unthinkingly kind, had stirred a softness in his chest. 

“Thank you, Jord” he said, rising to stand and holding out a hand to his Captain. Jord took it, almost hesitant, but rose to his feet beside Laurent. The air about them had shifted, something seemed to have changed in the way Jord regarded his King. A new respect found, a new tie binding them together. It was something special. Something akin to friendship. Whatever it was, Laurent was thankful for it. In Damen’s absence, he could use all the friends he could find. 

It was the day before his coronation that a letter arrived from Torveld. 

_Laurent_, it said. 

_I hope you are well. I am thrilled to answer your invitation and will look forward to seeing you formally crowned. You will make a fine King and I am honored to bear witness to the occasion. _

_I do have news. My brother has heard word from your uncle. The former Regent of Vere has made his presence known and requests that Patras give him sanctuary, as well as support his claim to a throne he claims was stolen. Torgeir has decided to withhold judgement until he can speak with you. He would know what kind of man you are, what kind of King you will be. I have assured him of both. You have my support and my loyalty, as you always have. But there is more to it than that. My brother fears for the prosperity of our country. He fears what an alliance between Vere and Akielos will do for Patran diplomacy and trade. Worse, he fears what the eradication of slavery in Akielos will do to our economy. _

_I wish it could be simple, Laurent. I really do. I do hope we can continue our conversation after your coronation. Rest assured, I will do everything in my power to help secure the alliance between Vere and Patras. _

_Yours, Torveld. _

So Torveld had accepted his invitation and would be in Vere for Laurent’s coronation. They would have time to discuss the alliance, to right any harm that Damen, with all his well-meaning intentions, might have inadvertently brought about. 

Laurent was good at using his words to solve problems...and to wind men around his fingers. Torveld, especially, was an easy target. From the very beginnings of their relationship, Laurent had known that Torveld was a good man...kind, righteous, concerned with the morally upstanding issues that most men of his station so often ignored. But he was also soft, unmarried, with a seeking heart. His heart had beckoned to Laurent. But for all his attempts at courting him, Torveld would never have been able to win Laurent’s affections. Though, it had always been in Laurent’s best interests to allow Toveld to think himself able to do so. 

Torveld would be subject to the spectacle of Laurent’s coronation, to a night of festivities and drinking, to Laurent’s dashing good looks and his incredibly convincing charms. If there as one thing of which Laurent was certain, it was that Torveld would be eating from the palm of his hand before the night was over. And hopefully, by the time Torveld was heading back home to Patras, he would be fully sided with the Veretian-Akielion alliance: and willing to persuade his brother to do the same. 

Laurent woke up the next morning feeling no different, no more or less kingly than he ever had before. It was the day of his ascension, the day he would be crowned in front of his people and his court and his councillors. It wasn’t something he had ever wanted for himself. To become King. But it was his duty. The crown should have gone to Auguste, but in his absence, Laurent would do whatever he could to bring honor to that memory and to the people of Vere. 

As he ran a brush through his hair, he noted the growth that had occurred in only a few short months. It was now well past his shoulders, all glistening sunlight and spun gold. He wished that Damen was there to play with it, to run his fingers through it, to find the beauty in this moment of Laurent’s doubt and apprehension. Damen was so good at that...at grounding Laurent and bringing comfort and stillness when all around him, the world seemed to be quaking and churning with chaos. 

But Damen was not there with him. So Laurent would see to the festivities and the greetings of his guests, as well as to the decorations and arrangements that would make the coronation a momentously uproarious occasion. Moments after pulling his hair back into a loose plait, a knock sounded at Laurent’s bedroom door, signalling the start of the dressing and bathing ceremonies. Vere, being Vere, was determined that their new King should not be held responsible for bathing, nor for dressing on his own. 

Laurent was robed, then led to the baths, wherein he was attended to by several of his household servants. They washed him thoroughly and delicately, as though he was made of glass or porcelain, all the while avoiding his eyes, as was expected of their station. As soft hands roved his body, Laurent found himself missing Damen’s hands, rough and calloused though they were. 

Once the servants found him satisfactorily cleansed and polished for presentation, he was led back to his rooms and laced into his jacket and breeches. The color of the fabrics were a lovely shade of sky blue that Damen would say matched his eyes. Gold stitchings wove over the breast of his jacket and down the sides, showing the sunburst of his house, the very same crest that Auguste had always worn so proudly. 

A cloak of gold and sapphire was attached to his shoulders. It stretched out behind him similarly to how a bride’s veil might. And with its pull on his back came the full weight of what was about to happen. In only a few moments, he would be led to the throne room, where already a mass assemblage of courtiers and notable officials would have already gathered to await his entrance. And there, in the presence of all those witnesses, Laurent would be crowned King, as his father once had been. 

His heart was pounding as he was escorted to the throne room. On the other side of an immaculately carved set of double doors, Laurent could hear quiet murmurings and titterings of excitement. The ceremony was about to begin. Laurent’s breath hitched as the doors were opened and a silence filled the hall. 

Laurent had seen his reflection. He knew what he looked like. The delicate pull of his plaited hair over one shoulder, the slender yet muscular form swathed in velvet and satin. With his chin up and his eyes facing only forward, he was every inch the Ice Prince, about to be crowned King. Beautiful. Aloof. Frigid. 

Could the courtiers see their breath? He amused himself in thinking so as he made the long trek towards the throne. 

Unlike the Akielion vows of office, Laurent’s words were a rehearsed set of phrases he had practiced saying since childhood. They were detached, archaic and dispassionate, so very different from the deeply personal and sentimental prose Damen had recited at his own coronation. 

But still, the words had their intended effect, settling over the crowd of onlookers as a heady and aromatic fog, entrancing them and captivating all attention. When Laurent took a knee in front of Herode, bending low so the thin golden circlet could be placed upon his head, the hall broke out into applause. It was not so rambunctious as it had been in Akielos, but still, it filled the room. As Laurent looked out into the crowd, he could see smiles of approval, happiness and joy. 

Laurent allowed himself a small smile as well, his mask of ice cracking ever so slightly.

What followed was a blur of greeting courtiers and accepting their congratulations. Laurent was seated upon the Veretian throne as each member of his council, as well as a series of distinguished guests bent knees in front of him and presented him with gifts and kind words. It was a lavish affair, one that Laurent did not so much care for. But it was tradition. 

Torveld was one of the last to approach the throne. Laurent felt himself tense in anticipation. Of course, now was not the time for the conversation they needed to have, but seeing Torveld here meant a great deal. It was a promise that had been kept. 

“Your Highness,” Torveld took a knee, bending his chin to his chest. “Patras offers its congratulations on your ascension. Your father would be proud to see you crowned.”

“Thank you, Prince Torveld,” Laurent answered. “You may rise.”

Torveld did. “The King presents his finest gifts to you, King Laurent, in hopes that you will remember the finery of Patras and its primary export.” He held out a hand to the left side of the hall. Emerging from the shadows at his behest were two young men, obviously slaves, and their handlers. Gold cuffs adorned the slaves’ necks, attached to handling rods. 

Laurent swallowed hard, attempting to force back the disgust that rose in the back of his throat. Both slaves possessed dark Akielion coloring, warm brown skin and dark black curls. They were barely dressed, with only swathes of silk draping over this waists, drawing attention to their well-formed bodies, all muscle and hard lines. 

Perhaps Torveld was ignorant to it, but King Torgeir had sent a message through these slaves. One that could not be ignored. 

“A most gracious gift,” Laurent forced himself to say. “Please communicate my thanks to the King upon your return.”

“Of course, Your Highness. Thank you, Your Highness.” Torveld nodded, bowing his head once more as he turned to dip back into the crowd. 

“Prince Torveld,” Laurent bid himself to stay calm and detached as Torveld’s eyes met his. “I do look forward to further discussing the strengthening relationship between our two nations. I expect you will find me later tonight?”

Torveld smiled gently, the soft wrinkles around his eyes creasing if ever so slightly. “I would be honored to have some of your time, Your Highness.”

Laurent watched Torveld disappear back into the crowd. The slaves, however, knelt at the foot of Laurent’s throne, their heads bowed in submission. What would Damen think if he were here? What would he have done? Laurent felt sick, glancing down at the dark curls, the perfectly unblemished skin of their bare backs. 

Now was not the time. Laurent would push through. 

The following festivities were moved to the banquet hall, where food and drink were awaiting the esteemed guests of King Laurent and his council. It was now common practice that dancing would follow the feast, and that the King would lead his company in the first steps. Laurent had never danced in public before...but it was tradition. He would grit his teeth and bear it, as he did with so much. 

The feast was roasted boar. How fitting, Laurent thought. His stomach was a bundle of nerves anticipating what was to come. He could barely bring himself to eat. 

As the food began to dwindle around the table and goblets became less and less full, Laurent braced himself for what he knew was coming next. The dance. He rose to his feet, to address his guests, but paused as Jord entered the hall and took a knee. 

“Your Highness,” Jord seemed out of breath. The hall went silent, watching. 

“What is it?” Laurent asked, tense.

“There’s a guest here to see you. He wishes that he might have the honor of your first dance as King.”

Laurent’s heart thundered against his ribcage as a large, masculine form emerged from the doorway, draped in a dark cloak that disguised his features. As the form pulled back its hood, Laurent unwittingly brought a hand to his mouth to suppress a gasp of shock and pleasure. 

“Your Highness,” Damen said, taking a knee. 

The hall had erupted into whispers and speculations. It was to be expected of the gossip-hungry Veretian court. 

“It’s the King of Akielos!”

“What is he doing here?”

“Is it really him?”

Laurent struggled to find his voice. “Please rise, Brother of Akielos. This court is honored to host you. And to accept your request.” He stepped forward, holding his hand out to Damen in welcome. “I should be pleased to have the King of Akielos as my first dance.”

Damen moved forward to take Laurent’s extended hand and as their fingers touched, Laurent could feel sparks of electricity course through him. Just the feeling of those fingers against his skin shot currents of arousal through his body, vibrating like the static before a crack of lightning. 

The golden harp in the corner of the room struck up a melodic tune and the rest of Laurent’s court rose to their feet to join the two Kings on the dance floor. As the music picked up tempo, Damen pulled Laurent closer so their arms were draped around one another and their lips were close to each other’s ears. 

Laurent found himself lost in Damen. It was as though no one else existed. Even though the hall around them was filled with people, Laurent could only sense the man in his arms. He breathed in and his lungs were filled with Damen.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Are you surprised?” Damen’s voice was light and lilting, unabashedly playful. 

“I thought that would be obvious.” The dance dictated they spin and separate before coming back together. 

“Are you happy?” Damen’s eyes were so warm, so inviting as his arms again caught Laurent and held him close. 

“Yes,” Laurent said.

“I saw you crowned,” Damen said and Lauren’t heart fluttered its approval.

“I didn’t see you in the crowd.”

“I didn’t want to take away from the ceremony. I was watching from the back. But I couldn’t miss it. I had to see you.”

Laurent felt a swell of love for this man, this man who had taken great strides to surprise him, to be near him, to see him crowned. “You are supposed to be ruling Akielos…”

“I left my Kingdom in capable hands. Besides, I’ll only be staying this one night. I’ll return in the morning.”

“Long travels for only one night in Vere.”

Damen grinned. “Then we best make it worth it.”

His words shot straight to Laurent’s groin. “Damen…”

“You were glorious, Laurent. Today, watching you take the throne, I’ve never seen something so breathtaking. You were meant to be King. I’m so thankful I was there to see it. Missing it would have been something I would have regretted for the rest of my life.”

Laurent wanted so badly to sink into those arms, to press his lips to Damen’s mouth, to be absorbed into this man as if the rest of the world did not exist. But now was not the time.”I’m glad you were able to see it then,” he said, feeling suddenly shy. 

“There’s something I want,” Damen said gently into Laurent’s ear. “Something I want to ask of you…”

Laurent’s breath caught in his throat. “Anything,” he whispered.

“Tonight. Later. I know you have to be the King for a little while longer yet. I won’t distract you from it.” Damen caught a stray lock of Laurent’s golden hair and brushed it behind his ear. Laurent shivered at the touch. 

“Perhaps I want to be distracted,” Laurent murmured and Damen’s smile deepened. “Perhaps I want to retire to my chambers now and spend the rest of the night making love to you.”

“Tempting,” Damen purred, his pupils blown in desire. “But I can’t be the reason you shirk your duties. At least not tonight. Besides...I’ll be here when you retire. I’ll look forward to attending you, My King.”

The song came to an end and Laurent’s heart ached to let go of Damen. As a round of applause rumbled through the hall, Laurent could sense all eyes on himself and his Akielion King. Damen, perhaps sensing the same, pulled himself into a deep bow.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” he said. “It was an honor to be your first dance.”

“Thank you, King Damianos.” Laurent met Damen’s low bow with one of his own. Their eyes met before Damen nodded and stepped back to allow all attention to fall back on Laurent. 

“People of Vere and honored guests,” Laurent said, his voice strong and proud, burgeoned by a new confidence now he knew Damen was watching. “I thank you for standing by my side on this joyous occasion. I bid you, eat, drink, dance. Enjoy the festivities of this great hall. I look forward to conversing with each and every one of you! Please go back to your merriment! Don’t stop on my account.”

The next few hours, Laurent spent moving about the hall, interacting with the courtiers and guests, keeping both Torveld and Damen in his sights at all times. Both men seemed to also be watching him, while sipping drinks and making casual conversation when approached. 

Eventually, the crowd began to dwindle. Guests and patrons began to bid him goodnight, stumbling out of the hall, usually with a Pet or two in tow. Laurent caught Damen’s eye and noted that his lover nodded before he too left the hall, most likely to freshen up or get some sleep before Laurent would join him. 

Slowly, deliberately, Laurent made his way to where he knew Torveld would have situated himself: the balcony. The faint breeze from the darkening sky stirred Laurent’s golden hair and stole his breath. Torveld looked up at his approach. 

“Your Highness,” he stood, pulling himself into a bow. Laurent inclined his head with a smile. 

“Prince Torveld. Thank you for your patience. I’m afraid tonight has been quite a bit busier than I had expected.”

“Everyone wants a piece of you, it seems,” Torveld said delicately. “And rightly so. You looked a vision today. You still do.”

“You’re too kind,” Laurent attempted a genuine smile. He knew the time’s passing had done little to tarnish Torveld’s feelings for him. “I truly am honored to have you here, Torveld. You’ve done so much for me. For Vere.”

“It is my honor to serve you, Your Highness.”

“Laurent, please. I’d ask you to call me by my given name. There is no need for formality, Toveld. Not when it is just us.”

Torveld’s eyes widened as he assessed Laurent. Those green eyes shimmered under the low starlight and he smiled softly. “Laurent,” he said, as if tasting the name on his lips. “It is good to see you. You look well. You really do.”

“As do you.”

“The crown suits you. I never doubted you had the right temperment to rule.”

“I’m untested as of yet.”

Torveld raised an eyebrow. “That’s not entirely true, is it?”

Laurent smirked, leaning against the balustrade that overlooked the city. His city. “No. I suppose not.”

Torveld drew nearer. Close, but not close enough to touch. Laurent could feel the tension in the air surrounding them, the heat of Torveld’s gaze. “There are talks of war in Patras, Laurent.”

Laurent’s heart picked up its pace. “War?” He gaped. “With Vere?”

“A war for slavery. A war to keep our primary export safe. Torgeir is not happy.”

Laurent nodded solemnly, though his head was spinning. “I had not imagined he would be.”

“Akielos was our primary trade partner. Torgeir is blaming you for turning Damianos against us.”

Laurent forced himself to breathe. “I can see how our alliance with Akielos may have been misunderstood…”

“I did not anticipate that the King of Akielos would be here tonight.” There was a slight tremor in Torveld’s voice. 

“Nor did I,” Laurent admitted. “He...came to surprise me.”

Torveld ran a hand through his dark hair. “How long is he planning to stay? Does he not have his own kingdom to rule?”

Laurent wrinkled his nose in frustration. “He’s leaving in the morning. He’s only here to show his support. But you’re right...the entirety of Akielos might come crumbling to the ground now that he’s returned to Vere of his own volition...”

“Laurent...this is serious. It’s dangerous. You’re playing a deadly game with one of the most important resources Patras has at is disposal.”

“Humans aren’t resources, Torveld. You of all people should know that.” 

The look that crossed Torveld’s face was one of hurt, of shame. “You’re the one who gave Erasmus to me, Laurent. Or did you forget? He was a slave in Vere first.”

“And is he still a slave now? In Patras?”

“You know the answer to that.”

Laurent sighed. Of course Erasmus would still be a slave. A slave once, always a slave, especially when sold from one master to another. Unless they could do something about it. 

“What would you have me do, Torveld? Damen won’t back down. He’s determined to end slavery.” He watched Torveld with wide blue eyes, beseeching him, pleading with him for his aid. 

Torveld shook his head. “Torgeir wants an audience with you. Your uncle already has his ear but perhaps if you could get the other, you could persuade him to see reason. I know you, Laurent. I know you can speak to him and make him understand that there does not need to be a war.”

Laurent nodded. “I’ll gladly meet with the King. I’ll begin plans on the journey at once - !”

“No,” Torveld said, his eyes steadily holding Laurent’s. “No...there’s no time. It has to be now.”

“Now?” Laurent balked.

“I’m leaving for Patras in the morning. I want you to come with me. Just the two of us. I’ll get you an audience with the King. You’ll be under my protection.”

“I can’t just - !”

“We’ll go in disguise. No one will know it’s you but myself and Torgeir. It will be easier this way, Laurent. Your uncle can’t know you’re not on the throne. He will see your weakness and use it against you. There are spies in Vere, Laurent. Spies who would conspire to take your throne when you are vulnerable.”

Laurent was stunned, barely able to comprehend those words. Torveld reached out and took Laurent’s hands in his own. 

“Trust me, Laurent. Together we can keep the alliance strong and fully formed. That’s what you want, isn’t it? That’s what we all want.”

Laurent studied that handsome face, the kind eyes, the gentle smile. He could trust Torveld. He knew he could. Torveld had proven himself every time that Laurent had asked it of him.

Finally, after the briefest moments of hesitation, Laurent nodded. “Yes, alright. Tomorrow.”

A relieved smile broke over Torveld’s face. He clasped Laurent’s hand in both of his own and brought Laurent’s knuckles to his lips for a kiss. “Thank you, my friend. We’re going to make this world better. You’ll see.”

Laurent felt dizzy. Was he being foolish agreeing to this? No. He had to trust Torveld. “I think I’m going to retire. It’s been a...trying day.”

“Yes, of course.” Torveld released Laurent’s hands as a flush crept up his cheeks. “I’m sure you’re tired from your first day as King. I’ll...I’ll see you in the morning, then?”

Laurent nodded without meeting Torveld’s piercing green eyes. “Yes. As soon as Damen leaves, I’ll meet you in the stables.”

“Yes. As soon as the King leaves…” Torved trailed off, his eyes seeming to drift. “Oh, and Laurent…?”

“Hmm?”

“You mustn’t tell Damianos about this. He’ll likely urge you to bring him with you and...Torgeir is furious with him. I’m afraid his presence would only exacerbate the already growing resentment.”

It was true, Laurent knew. But the idea of keeping something like this from Damen felt wrong, slimy, sinister. He forced himself to acquiesce. “Yes, of course. Tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow.”

Torveld remained on the balcony, gazing out into the vast starscape, as Laurent excused himself and headed to his chambers where he knew his Akielion King was waiting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a lot of political intrigue, a lot of Laurent dealing with Vere in the aftermath of the Regent. I’m so sorry- I promised you smut but the chapter got too long.  
Next chapter will be super smutty, promise ;)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Your comments give me life and motivation to keep writing so if you like the story, please let me know! ❤️❤️❤️


	4. Chapter 4

Laurent’s mind was a turbulent and raging storm as he paced slowly in the direction of his chambers. His soft steps echoed on the marble floors, yet another reminder of the solitude of the late hour. Though Laurent was no longer alone. 

Damen would be in the King’s chambers, waiting for him. Damen who had travelled so far for just one night. Damen, who’s kind heart and pure soul Laurent did not deserve. And yet it was Damen alone that Laurent desired to see. More than anything, he wanted to curl up in Damen’s arms and pretend the rest of the world did not exist. 

He paused outside his chamber door, hand hesitating on the handle. 

_ You mustn’t tell Damianos.  _

Keeping his conversation with Torveld from Damen felt wrong, like a betrayal somehow. But if Torveld was right and Damen insisted on accompanying them to Patras, he could inadvertently undermine the entire purpose, damning all of Laurent’s efforts to right the situation.

_ It’s just Damen,  _ Laurent chided himself. 

He turned the knob and stepped inside.

Damen lay stretched out on the bed, fast asleep. His body was unclothed under a thin layer of silken sheets and one of his hands was covering his face. His dark curls lay pooled about his head like a halo. He was beautiful like this. Breathtaking. Peaceful. No doubt the journey had taken its toll on him. And yet still he had made it, thinking of nothing more than bringing Laurent joy, than being at his side. 

Laurent removed the gold circlet from his head, setting it down on a nearby desk, and then dropped his cloak carelessly to the floor. He watched Damen’s sleeping form as he moved silently towards the bed. His footsteps were light on the hardwood floor so as not to wake Damen from his reverie. When Laurent reached the bed, he sat down, dipping the mattress ever so slightly. Damen’s eyes fluttered open sleepily. 

“Laurent,” he murmured, a ghost of a smile flitting across his lips.

“Hello, lover,” Laurent purred. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I’m glad you did.” Damen stretched an inviting arm toward Laurent. “Come here. I want to touch you.”

Laurent shifted forward on the mattress, pressing himself ever nearer to the radiating heat that was Damen’s body. 

“You travelled a long way. I’m sure you’re exhausted,” Laurent chided.

“I told you. It was a journey I would have regretted not making.”

Laurent rolled his eyes. “So romantic…”

“I want to court you, Laurent,” Laurent was sure he could see a faint pink flush color Damen’s cheeks despite the darkness of his skin. “I want to prove to you how...important you are to me…”

“Damen, you don’t have to prove anything to me…”

“You’re not alone anymore, Laurent.” The words held Laurent stunned, captivated. “If I have to spend the rest of my life proving that to you, I will. From now on, you’ll never have to fight alone. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

There were no words that could describe the emotions Laurent felt in that moment. “I…” he gaped, unsure of what he could say to express his gratefulness. “Damen...you...seem to be the only person alive capable of rendering me speechless.”

Damen smirked, bringing a hand up to trace the lines of Laurent’s lips. The calloused fingers were rough yet gentle and Laurent shuddered under that reverent touch. “I love you,” Damen said, his voice thick, intense. 

“I love you, Damen.” The words escaped him before he could stop them. But the look of joy on Damen’s face at hearing his admission made Laurent’s heart swell. 

“Laurent…” Damen brought their lips together as his hands caressed Laurent’s cheeks, his chin, his hair. When he parted his lips to open Laurent’s, Damen was gentle, hesitant, almost shy. His tongue flirted with Laurent’s, playing a coy game inside his mouth. 

When finally Damen pulled back, Laurent could scarcely catch his breath. Wide brown eyed bore into his, seeking to draw closer, to consume him entirely. “Laurent...I want to...do you remember our last night together before the Kingsmeet?”

Laurent felt a flush rise to his cheeks remembering the passion of that night, the desperation to be nearer, to feel more, to give and to take. “Of course,” he swallowed.

“Do you remember what I said to you that night?” Damen seemed hesitant, perhaps nervous? But that was so unlike Damen, usually so assertive and confident.

“ _ Many _ things were said that night…”

Damen nodded. “I told you that night that...I had never had another man inside me. That...you would be my first…”

Laurent could feel the heat in his cheeks, the pounding of his heart. He knew what Damen was about to ask.

“You told me that night that you...had never experienced the reverse.”

Laurent’s eyes were wide, he was sure they mirrored the internal panic racing through his body. Hesitantly, he shook his head in admonition.

“I’ve been thinking about what it would be like...to feel you...like that. And to give that to you. That part of me that no one else has ever had. I...want that. I’m…” he hesitated. “I’m  _ desperate _ for it, Laurent.”

“Damen…” Laurent felt his throat tighten. “I don’t know if…”

Damen brought a hand to Laurent’s temple, brushing back stray strands of gold that had fallen loose from his plait. “I know you’ll be gentle. I know you won’t hurt me. I want to...I want to give this to you, Laurent. More than anything.”

Laurent’s mind was fraught with tension. He realized he was trembling. But he was also heavily aroused at the thought of that tight heat, at the thought of experiencing that part of Damen that would be  _ his _ alone. 

“Please, Laurent.” Damen’s fingers were slipping under Laurent’s chin now, bringing Laurent’s eyes to meet his. The look on his face was imploring, gentle, inviting. It begged Laurent to trust Damen, to trust himself. 

Laurent swallowed hard, and then nodded. 

“Yes?” Damen asked.

“Yes,” Laurent replied breathlessly. And then Damen’s fingers were twining themselves into his hair, pulling him down onto the mattress. He situated himself easily between Damen’s legs, fully aware now of his lover’s nakedness, of his heavy arousal. 

Damen began pulling at the lacings of Laurent’s jacket, tugging greedily as his lips latched onto Laurent’s. He groaned into Laurent’s mouth as his tongue dove deeply inside. The heat of their embrace penetrated deep to Laurent’s core, a steady spike of arousal that grew ever greater, heating him from the inside out. 

His jacket was casually being discarded to the floor now, and Damen’s hands were roving beneath his undershirt, playing with his hardened nipples. Laurent gasped in response, and Damen absorbed that desperate sound into his own mouth as if breathing it in. 

Damen was so hard against Laurent’s body, his member red and straining, trapped between them. Laurent could see his seed gleaming at the head of his cock. In a moment of quick decision, he bent low and licked a swipe over the slit, swallowing down the salty wetness.

Damen made a desperate choking sound, weaving his fingers into Laurent’s hair, tugging ever so slightly. Not enough to hurt but just enough to send shivers down Laurent’s spine at the rough contact. 

When Laurent raised his head, Damen’s eyes were wide and his pupils were blown in desire.

“Laurent…” Damen managed, and Laurent grinned at his lover’s naked lust. He loved seeing Damen like this, desperate and panting in his desire. “Laurent, please…”

“I like it when you beg,” Laurent purred, reaching over Damen’s writhing body to open the drawer of the bedside table. He retrieved a small vial of oil, earning a growl of approval from Damen’s lips. 

“I need you,” Damen’s voice was quaking, his body trembling. Laurent leaned in to take a dark nipple in his mouth, lapping at it with his tongue as Damen squirmed and gasped.

“Say it again,” Laurent whispered as he traced wet kisses over Damen’s chest. His hands roved over the smooth planes of muscles, grasping and squeezing, raising goosebumps in their wake. 

“I need you. Fuck,” Damen gasped. “I need you, Laurent.”

“Mmm…” Laurent groaned against Damen’s skin. He could still feel Damen’s fingers in his hair. They were trembling slightly, whether from passion or apprehension, Laurent wasn’t sure. Fiddling with the stopper on the bottle of oil, he popped the cork to coat his fingers with the smooth, slippery liquid. His heart was beating at an irrational pace, pounding its trepidation in his ears, as he slowly brought a slick finger up between Damen’s legs to toy with his opening. 

Damen gasped underneath him, “Please.”

Laurent complied, pushing a finger deep inside Damen. The tightness was overwhelming, the heat all consuming. Damen was pushing his hips down now, writhing against Laurent’s finger, a wrecked look on his handsome face. 

“More,” he choked. 

Laurent gave him another, fucking him on two fingers as Damen moaned unabashedly, loudly, wtihout restraint. 

He was beautiful like this, Laurent realized. His mind replayed all the times that Damen had said those very words to him. It made sense now. The vulnerability, the pure and complete surrender to pleasure. It was striking. It was unimaginably breathtaking. 

Damen was matching the movement of Laurent’s fingers, his hips canting forward and back with the slow drag in and out of his body. His eyes were gaining a distant, far off look, the one he often adopted when he was close to completely succumbing to his pleasure. 

“Laurent,” he groaned out gutterally. “If you don’t stop, I might…”

Laurent slowly pulled out of Damen’s body, a devious smirk on his lips. “Oh no, you don’t, you great barbarian. Not until I’ve had my fill.”

Damen laughed then, the most beautiful thing Laurent had seen in what felt like weeks. His cheeks were flushed and his teeth so white - he looked an absolutely debauched vision of angelic perfection. To Laurent, he was perfect. 

As he lined himself up between Damen’s legs, Laurent felt a twinge of nervousness. The first time this very act had been performed upon him had been painful, terrifying, a nightmare of confusion and guilt and shame. But looking into Damen’s eyes, Laurent saw none of those emotions. Only love.

“Your first time,” Damen said with a smile and a coyly cocked brow. 

“If I hurt you, tell me to stop,” Laurent said.

Damen reached up to wrap a hand around the back of Laurent’s neck. As he pulled him down for a kiss, Damen said, “You won’t. Now, fuck me, Your Highness.”

Again Laurent complied. 

The slide inside Damen’s body was unlike anything Laurent had felt before. The tightness overwhelmed him, swallowing him up and absorbing him into its depths. He released an unrepressed moan, a feral sound that he had not known himself capable of making. Below him, Damen’s mouth was open and a sheen of sweat had broken out over his brow. He was an immaculate vision of pleasure and Laurent soaked him in as he pulled out slightly and thrust back inside. 

Damen’s fingers found their way to the plump cheeks of Laurent’s ass, clawing into him like a ravenous beast. “Yes, yes,” he growled throatily. His eyes locked onto Laurent’s, grounding them both in the stillness of the moment, the deep and unyielding pleasure, the penetrative closeness. 

Laurent leaned in to take Damen’s lips in a passionate and possessive kiss. Still he could feel Damen’s hips keeping time with his thrusts, Damen’s fingers clenching over the globes of his ass. 

“Touch yourself,” Laurent murmured silkily into Damen’s ear. “I want to see you come.”

Damen did as he was told, slowly at first and then warming, running his hand up and down his own shaft. The image had Laurent reeling, overcome with pleasure. He licked his lips, getting closer, ever closer to release, but determined to reach it with Damen on his heels. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Damen purred into Laurent’s ear, fondling the lobe between his lips as he fondled his own cock in his hand. “You’re so good, Laurent. You’re so good. I love you.”

The words had Laurent stumbling over the edge as his pleasure reached its crescendo. He cried out as he spilled into Damen, the release unlike nothing he had before experienced. He felt the clench as Damen followed after him, his seed spilling between their naked chests. 

They were both gasping for air as they collapsed on the bed. Though their bodies were still sticky with saliva and semen, Laurent couldn’t bring himself to move and separate himself from this man. 

“Laurent...that was…” Damen’s voice trailed off as if words were incapable of describing the passion they had just shared. Laurent felt Damen’s lips on his shoulder. “Thank you. You’re so good. You’re so good to me.”

_ So good.  _ But that wasn’t true was it? 

Damen was not nuzzling into Laurent’s body, closing his eyes, humming softly and affectionately. At total peace. But in the stillness of the afterglow, Laurent’s mind whirred and rebelled. Unable to stop himself, he broke the silence. “I don’t deserve you, Damen. You must know that. I’m not  _ good.  _ I never have been.” He paused, sensing Damen’s stillness, his attentive stare. “I’m a wicked, callous thing. All my life, I have striven to harden myself, to rid myself of the soft, tender parts that would weaken me. And in that way, I’ve become something...cold. Something tainted. A wretched thing like me could never deserve the love of someone like you.”

Damen pulled away to sit up and study Laurent with a look of incredulity. “Laurent...what? Where is this coming from?”

Laurent averted his eyes. “The things I’ve done…they can’t be forgiven.”

Damen’s hands were under his chin now, forcing his eyes up. “Laurent there is nothing to forgive. Everything you did, everything you have ever done, was to survive. You were a sparrow in a den of snakes. And to survive, you had to adapt.” He paused. “And what was done to you...that was not your fault.”

_ What was done to you.  _

_ You’re such a beautiful boy. _

Laurent sat up abruptly, his breath coming quickly and unevenly. “I don’t want to...talk about that,” he whispered, feeling Damen’s hesitant gaze.

“I would never force you to talk about something you’re not ready to discuss. But I want you to know that you hold no fault, no tarnish, Laurent. And if there ever comes a time when you want to talk, I will listen without judgement. To whatever you decide to share.”

Laurent swallowed back a lump of emotion, nodding, still unable to look at Damen. He felt Damen’s warm hand on the back of his neck, felt Damen move to close the gap Laurent had forced between them. 

“There is no question for me...of what you deserve, Laurent. You deserve  _ everything.  _ You deserve the world and I wish I could give it to you. You deserve to know kindness, to know you are loved. I’ll work to show you those things every day for the rest of my life, if you will have me.”

Damen moved to rise from the bed and began digging around on the floor for his hastily discarded chiton. He withdrew something small from one of its folds, before setting back down beside Laurent. That shy look was back again and Laurent found that he couldn’t get enough of it.

“I have something for you. I’ve been carrying it around for a few weeks, trying to decide the best time to give it to you, trying to figure out the best words to say. But...it’s not really about all that. All the pomp and circumstance. It’s about you. Loving you, wanting to show you, wanting to be with you...forever.”

“Damen, what are you talking about?”

Damen held out his hand. In his palm was a thin golden ring. It was small. Too small for any of Damen’s fingers. But for Laurent’s long, slender fingers...it looked like it would be a perfect fit.

“What-?” Laurent’s eyes darted from the ring to Damen’s face. There was a soft, uncertain smile there. Damen’s cheeks were pinked, though most likely not from their most recent bout of lovemaking.

“It was my mother’s. I thought it would fit you. May I?”

Damen held out a hand expectantly, his brows furrowed in concentration. Laurent extended his hand, hesitant. Slowly, carefully, Damen slid the ring onto Laurent’s ring finger. It fit perfectly. Laurent’s heart skipped a beat. 

“In Akielos, we have a tradition. The presentation of a ring to ones lover solidifies a promise, a request. Does Vere have the same tradition?” Damen asked.

Laurent swallowed, speechless. He managed a nod.

“I love you, Laurent. I am yours. Forever. I want to rule Akielos and Vere together.  _ It was one kingdom once. _ Let’s unite them again. Laurent...would you...marry me?”

Laurent’s mind began racing again. What would this mean? Would it complicate things unnecessarily? Or make it easier? Marrying for love was never something he had considered for himself. And yet, Damen was sitting in front of him, posing the opportunity as it it was the simplest request, the most base of his heart's desires.

For Damen, everything was simple. There was no second guessing. Life was instinct, choices were easy to make. Consequences were dealt with him after the fact. And love was pure and uncomplicated. Damen  _ loved  _ Laurent. So of course proposing marriage was, to him, as natural, and unthinking as breathing.

But to Laurent, accepting a proposal meant more than just accepting a future marriage to the man he loved. It meant binding his kingdom. It meant a unification. It meant forcing his people into acceptance. It was more than just himself he would be giving to Damen. It was Vere. And the people of Vere as well. 

But was not Damen doing the same? Had they not already decided to join the two kingdoms as one? Was this not merely a first step in doing so? 

Damen was studying Laurent with wide, fraught eyes. Laurent could see a twinge of fear there, as if a small part of Damen was now wondering if he had made a mistake, if he had overstepped. 

“Laurent...if you’re not ready, if you need more time...or if you never want to...I’d be happy just to be with you...I don’t need - !”

“Yes,” Laurent said, silencing Damen’s words with one of his own. Damen paused, watching Laurent warily. Laurent smiled, feeling a warmth flood his chest. “Yes. I will. Of course, I will.” 

Damen huffed out a laugh that was partially relief, partially pure joy as he wrapped Laurent in his arms. He pressed a kiss to Laurent’s hair, and Laurent burrowed further into Damen’s warmth. They embraced for several long, exquisite moments, buried in each other as if the rest of the world did not exist. 

Eventually, though, Damen pulled away, his expression soft and thoughtful. “We should move the capital,” he pressed, his voice tentative. “Somewhere in the middle of the two kingdoms so we can rule side by side...and never have to part…”

“Marlas,” Laurent said and Damen’s eyes snapped to his face. 

“Marlas?” he questioned and Laurent nodded. 

“Where better? It’s halfway in between our countries. It’s the place that brought us together.”

“There are so many ghosts there, Laurent. So many regrets…”

“Not anymore,” Laurent said. “The ghosts are long gone. And the regrets...we’ve both made amends, have we not? The only thing left to do now is to reclaim the place that brought us both so much hurt. Use it instead as a symbol of hope. There would be no greater show of our devotion to this alliance...to this... _ marriage _ ...than uniting at Marlas.”

Realization dawned over Damen’s features. He nodded, holding Laurent’s gaze. “If you’re certain…”

“I am.”

“Then I agree. We’ll construct a palace at Marlas, better than either in Arles or Ios. It will be a place of peace and prosperity. And we will be there together.”

“I would love nothing more.”

“And you will be my husband. And you’ll rule by my side as my equal.”

Laurent smirked. “Your  _ equal _ ? Is that what you think, Damianos?”

Damen slipped his fingers around the back of Laurent’s neck to pull him in for a rough kiss. The friction of skin on skin had Laurent’s body reacting on instinct, his cock beginning to harden against Damen’s warm thighs. “You’re no one’s equal, Laurent.”

They fell back into each other, spending the rest of the night, when not passionately indisposed, talking about the future. Their wedding, the unification, the plans for building their palace at Marlas. It would all be well underway, presented to each of their individual councils during the following week so as to best make use of their time apart, and hopefully, shorten it indefinitely. 

By the time Laurent’s head hit the pillow and his mind succumbed to sleep, he had all but forgotten about King Torgeir and the threat of Patras looming on the horizon. 

The following morning was difficult. Seeing Damen to the front steps of the palace, Laurent held onto his lover’s hand tightly, desperate not to let go. He dreaded seeing Damen’s form disappear over the horizon. But with the promise of a new capitol to unite their kingdoms ahead, Laurent forced himself to buy into the feeling of hope. It was not a feeling he was overly familiar with, but as dawn approached, Laurent’s heart swelled with love and promise. 

Damen had spent the night whispering sweet nothings into his ear, murmuring loving words and making promises that seemed too good to be true. But with Damen, Laurent  _ believed. _ He believed in a way he never had before. He felt like a child again, innocent and pure and filled with expectation. And it felt  _ good _ .

Soon, they would never have to part. Soon, their marriage would unite their kingdoms. Soon, Marlas, a place that had once been a symbol of Laurent’s devastating grief and irreparable loss, would become their  _ home _ . Damen, who was already home to Laurent, would be at his side for the rest of his life. 

“I love you,” Laurent whispered into Damen’s ear. They stood upon the palace steps, preparing to part ways once again. 

Damen smiled and Laurent could detect a flush spreading over his dark skin. “I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that.” 

Laurent grinned mischievously. “They’re just words, Damen.”

“Not to me, they’re not. I have a feeling they’re more than that to you as well.”

Laurent stiffened. It was the truth. Of course, Damen would know that. Tightly, he murmured, “Why must you always see right through me? It’s taken a long time to cultivate this  _ esoteric  _ persona, I’ll have you know.”

Damen nodded. “I know. But you don’t need it around me.” Damen’s fingers were sliding over the smooth skin of Laurent’s cheeks, bringing him in for a kiss. Since it was just the two of them, and since the culture of Vere was not so austere as that of Akielos, they were free to give their affections in public. And Laurent revelled in those gentle affections. Who knew how long their separation might be this time. 

As they pulled away, Laurent felt a tightness in his chest at the thought of letting Damen go. “Thank you,” he said finally, his hands still clenching tight to Damen’s. “For surprising me. For being here. No one has ever...done anything like that for me before.”

Damen’s smile was radiant in the morning light. “Get used to it, sweetheart,” he said coyly before leaning in once more to kiss Laurent on fully on the mouth.

“Pallas is waiting for me at the city gates,” Damen said, his voice thin as he stepped out of Laurent’s embrace. “We wanted to remain as inconspicuous as possible.”

Laurent nodded, glad to hear that Damen had not indeed travelled alone. The road was long and even one so  _ imposing _ as Damen might meet with difficulties along the way. 

“That must be difficult for someone of your size.”

“You weren’t complaining about my  _ size  _ earlier,” Damen’s voice took on a deep seductive tone, and Laurent flushed. 

“You’re ridiculous,” he chuckled. 

“I love you.” Damen took hold of Laurent’s hand and brought it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to Laurent’s knuckles, meeting his eyes with a fiercely loving gaze. 

“Be safe, King Damianos,” Laurent pined, praying Damen would heed his words. 

“And you as well, King Laurent.” Damen’s eyes spoke of promise, of the future. They shone with golden light that reflected from the soft honey brown. Laurent’s heart skipped a beat meeting that steady, sure gaze. 

As Damen finally turned to go, Laurent felt panic rise to his chest, threatening to consume him. With Damen was leaving his security, his peace. The promise of a future, of hope. Laurent wished he could throw his arms around Damen, beg him to stay. He knew that should he do it, should he make such a rash request, Damen would stay. Laurent could never ask that of him. 

Laurent shook his head in disdain, weary of his own terminal mindset. Was he really so spoiled now by Damen’s attention that he was afraid to be alone? He urged himself to snap out of it, to remember the days when he truly  _ had _ been alone. He had survived that. He would survive Damen’s absence. It was temporary. 

Besides, now he had much more important things with which to occupy his thoughts. Torveld would be waiting for him at the stables. Dawn was just now cresting over the horizon. He had little time to prepare. 

His feet led him to Jord’s quarters. The only man he knew for certain he could trust in this city. He knocked diligently at the door, sure that despite the early hour Jord would answer. 

After only a few short moments, the door opened to reveal Jord, mostly dressed though still burdened by the remnants of a sleepless night filled with merriment and revelry. His drowsy eyes widened as they assessed Laurent standing in his doorway. 

“Your Highness?”

“Good morning. I have a request.”

Jord nodded, “Yes, Your Highness.”

“I’m going to be leaving Vere.” Jord’s eyes widened further. “Only for a short while. I’ll be in good company. I need you to keep the council busy in my absence. They aren’t to know I’m gone.”

Jord’s mouth gaped open soundlessly, reminding Laurent of a fish out of water. “But...how…? When…? Your Highness, where are you going?”

“Best not to ask questions. I won’t be more than a few days. This is of great importance and I’ll trust you to keep my kingdom safe for me.”

Jord seemed highly confused, greatly addled and sufficiently overwhelmed.  _ What else is new?  _ Laurent wondered. He had been causing commotion and incertaintude among his closest advisors since he was young. They couldn’t truly expect that to change now that he was King, could they?

“My King,” Jord tried, his voice strained. “Do you think this is a good idea? Leaving Vere so soon after your coronation? Your people are surely looking for some guidance and direction now…”

Laurent nodded. “I need you to trust me, Jord. Only a few days. A week at most. Can I trust  _ you _ ?”

Jord stilled, his large brown eyes studying Laurent, stupefied, speechless. Wordlessly, he nodded. 

“Good then. I’ll be leaving this morning. Remember, tell no one. It could be dangerous should some of my advisors catch wind of my absence.”

“Your Highness?”

“Some of my advisors may not be as  _ steadfast  _ in their devotions as is preferrable. And with my Uncle at large, it would be wise for us to exercise discretion in this matter. Understood?”

Jord did indeed understand. Laurent could see the realization dawning on his masculine features. Traitors amidst Laurent’s council. Traitors in this very palace. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Good, then.” Laurent drew his shoulders high, turning to go.

“Your Highness?” Jord’s voice, choked and tinged with worry, stopped him in his tracks. He turned back to look at his Captain, watching those dark brows pull together. 

“Please be careful.”

By the time the sun had crested over the horizon, Laurent made his way to the stables to meet Torveld. It was still early, the city of Arles still fast asleep. Laurent pulled the darkly-colored cloak he wore closer about himself, ensuring the hood was secure enough to hide his telltale golden hair. He had bound it back, but still. He was sure the sun’s rays would catch and make his identity known. Especially while they were yet in Vere. 

Torvled was just where he had said he would be, tending to his already bridled horse, just in front of the stables. It seemed that he had readied Laurent’s horse as well. He cocked his head in greeting as Laurent approached. He too wore a dark cloak that disguised his features, but still Laurent could see the shimmer of his green eyes from the enshrouding darkness. 

“Your Highness,” Torveld said. “I trust King Damianos is already well on his way back to Akielos.”

Laurent’s throat tightened with regret at the thought of Damen. He nodded wordlessly.

“Good, then.” Torveld mounted his horse and waited patiently for Laurent to do the same. 

Laurent’s hands shook as they clutched the saddle. His arms were trembling as he pulled himself up to seat himself fully on his mare. Why was he so uncertain? Why did this feel so wrong?

“Laurent?” Torveld said his name gently, like a caress that was meant to reassure. “Are you ready?”

He had to be. For Damen, for their unification, for their future, he  _ had _ to be. 

“Yes,” Laurent said. 

Their horses galloped at a steady pace for several miles as a heavy and desolate silence stretched between them. Laurent watched Torveld, observing the tightness of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. Something was wrong, something he would not say. 

As the day stretched on and Arles faded from view, Laurent felt himself less and less at ease. Torveld’s usual carefree and temperate demeanor seemed cold, strained. He barely uttered a word to Laurent as the day dragged into evening, coloring the sky above them a soft glowing violet. Twilight was near. The sky was darkening, a chill descending upon them. 

Laurent had anticipated that their journey would take at least two days on horseback, so when Torveld began to scan their surroundings with seeking eyes, Laurent assumed he was searching for an ideal place to make camp. They had wandered into a densely forested area, trees surrounding them from all directions but the one from which they had come. A path through the trees was most likely the safest, most concealed option. But still, Laurent felt uneasy.

“Camp for the night?” he asked, bringing his horse next to Torveld’s.

Torveld sat silent for a moment, gazing into the nearby copse of trees. Laurent watched his hands clench around the reigns. “Laurent, you know my heart once pined for you. You know that, don’t you?”

Laurent felt his heart begin to race as tension settled in the pit of his stomach. “Yes,” he said.

“I found in you a heart similar to my own. A heart that yearned. A young heart. I knew that behind your cold exterior, there was a softness there. A kindness. I knew you to be a man worthy of my love.” Torveld paused, turning his eyes to meet Laurent’s. “I don’t blame you that our paths took us in different directions, that our hearts bound us to different people. I hope you know that despite all that, I still love you. I would never do you any harm nor wish any harm upon you.”

Laurent’s eyes narrowed. “Torveld, what are you -?”

“I’m so sorry, Laurent. I truly am. I want you to know...I did not want this.” 

There was a flurry of movement from within the woods surrounding them. Dark shapes began to withdraw, moving toward them. Men on horseback. Too many men. At least twenty that Laurent was able to count. They were moving forward from all sides. 

They were surrounded.

“I didn’t have a choice, Laurent. They took him. They’re hurting him. He’s mine to protect. As you would have been. But he’s not like you, Laurent. He can’t protect himself. He won’t fight back.” 

The shapes were converging on them, all shadows and swords. Laurent’s hand immediately flew to the sword he had sheathed at his side. His brother’s sword, the one he was never without. The sharp drag of steel sounded through the dense air as he pulled it from its scabbard, baring its formidable shape. 

“What have you done?” he growled through clenched teeth. 

Torveld was silent now, immobile. He didn’t draw his own sword. This trap had been laid for only one of them. 

“Bastard,” Laurent snarled as the men on horseback drew nearer, hoods drawn down over their faces. 

“Stay back!” Laurent bellowed into the darkening evening. But his words were met with no response. 

“Grab him,” the man at the helm barked out. And the figures converged on Laurent. 

He fought. With tooth and nail, he fought. With all the strength he had, he fought. 

But forceful hands tugged him from his horse, flung him to the hard earth. Fists slammed into his body, boots rammed hard into his chest, his stomach. He doubled over, blood flowing from his lip, from his nose. 

He could faintly hear Torveld’s frantic voice. “Stop, don’t hurt him! The King said he wasn’t to be hurt! He promised me!”

Anger flared through Laurent. Though the sword had been kicked from his grip, he rose to his feet, fists balled at his sides, determined to fight. As Damen would have fought. 

He landed a fist, an elbow. He could hear the crunch of a broken nose, could feel the splattering of blood across his cheek. 

Then, he was overwhelmed. His arms were pinned behind his back, he was forced to his knees as greedy hands pulled back his hood. Dark eyes glimmered down at him. Crooked, yellowed teeth formed a smile. 

“It’s him, alright. I’d recognize that pretty face anywhere.” The man who was presumably the leader of the company bent down, face near enough to Laurent’s to close their distance with a kiss. Laurent could smell his rancid breath. “How ‘bout a kiss, Princess?”

Laurent spat in the offending face, disregarding the consequences. The backhand across his cheek would have sent him sprawling should he not have been held up by several pairs of rough hands. Snickers resounded among the troop.

Laurent bared his teeth. “You  _ will _ let me go.”

“Oh,  _ will _ we?” The hooded man was wiping the spittle from his face. “But we’re getting a nice little price for your head, Princess. I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere but where  _ we _ say you’re going.”

“You will regret this,” Laurent snarled. Again, laughter rumbled through the men. 

“Nah. I don’t think I will.” 

A fist to Laurent’s face sent him spiralling into blackness. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those of you who are following this story, reading and commenting! Your support means so much!
> 
> Things are really heating up! I don't imagine it will take me too long to get the next chapter up - I thought this one would go quicker than it actually did!
> 
> Much Love! See you next chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Please see the tags. Lots of violence in this chapter. Most of the not so nice stuff is at the very end of chapter, after the last cut-off.

_ Laurent was alone. Truly alone.  _

_ Auguste was… _

_ He couldn’t even think it, refused to allow it to become reality. Auguste was… _

_ Tears streamed down his face like the angry rapids of a waterfall - unstoppable, all consuming. His body was shaking all over. His head caught in the crook of his knees, his body folded in on itself, he had never been smaller.  _

_ He was truly alone.  _

_ He hated the pitiful sounds he was making, the wet mixture of snot and tears that covered his face. He was an ugly, wounded, dejected thing. A callous little creature, abandoned and forgotten amidst the chaos that had been the battlefield of Marlas.  _

_ He hadn’t seen it happen. But he had heard the screams, the cries of desperation.  _

_ “The Prince,” they had said, their voices desolate and broken. “The Crown Prince is dead!” _

_ “Cut down by Damianos of Akielos! Prince Auguste...he’s gone…” _

_ Laurent had immediately fallen to the ground and retched in the middle of their camp. Had it not been for the gentle hands of Paschal, Laurent might have succumbed to his own grief right there in front of all the desperate soldiers and all the horrified camp servants.  _

_ He had barely registered Paschal’s arms surrounding him, barely heard Paschal’s voice in his ear, “This way, Your Highness. Come on. Let’s get you away from the field.” _

_ “My brother,” he had moaned, a blubbering, writhing mess. “My brother…” _

_ “Shhhh…It will be ok. It will be alright,” Paschal had attempted to soothe him, gently patting his head. But it wouldn’t be alright. It would never be alright again.  _

_ Paschal would eventually manage to wrangle Laurent’s flailing body into the King’s tent, to calm him enough to drink some water and eventually rest. Laurent would later find out the water had been drugged to coax him into sleep. And sleep he did.  _

_ When next he woke, he was alone in his bedroom in the palace at Arles.  _

_ How long had he been asleep for? Had it all been a horrible dream? He so badly longed for it to have been a nightmare. A nightmare he could deal with...but he knew in his heart that it was not. _

_ After allowing himself several more moments of sobbing and being consumed by his own grief, Laurent forced himself to rise, to wipe his face and straighten his shoulders. He forced himself to move to the door where he knew an armed guard would be waiting on the other side.  _

_ The guard straightened at Laurent’s appearance. Laurent could see pity reflected in the guard’s eyes as he looked down at the young prince. Laurent hardened. He needed no one’s pity.  _

_ “My uncle,” he managed, his voice hoarse from crying. “I want to see my uncle.” _

* * *

Laurent ached. His body hurt in ways it never had before. He could feel bruises developing on his skin, could feel dried blood hardened below his nose and over his lips. A blindfold covered his eyes and his hands were secured firmly behind his back. He did his best to sit up but an excruciating pain in his chest caused him to cry out softly at the attempt. Several ribs were certainly broken. 

He was disoriented. Where had they taken him? He could tell from the stillness of the air that he was inside. It was cold but there was no breeze. Echoes of voices around him reverberated against what could only be solid walls. 

“He’s awake.”

“Get him up.”

“He’s expecting you, Princess.”

Harsh hands were grasping him under his arms, hoisting him to his feet. Though he struggled, he knew in his current state, it was a futile mission. Unsure as he was as to the extent of his body’s damage, fighting now would only perhaps injure him further. He allowed himself to be led forcefully up several flights of stone steps, stumbling several times, to the amusement of his captors. 

Laurent gritted his teeth. Moving was agony. He did his best to suppress the noises of pain that threatened to burst forth from his lips at every step. 

He could hear a sharp knock on a door of solid wood. A voice beckoned from within. As the door creaked open, Laurent could feel the warmth of fire, could smell the smoke that drifted through the room. 

With an unnecessary amount of brutality, he was thrust to the stone floor, landing hard on his knees. He buckled, clenching his teeth to keep from crying out. In an abrupt swipe, the blindfold was torn from his face, flushing his eyes with bright light. It took him a moment to readjust. As his eyes scanned his surroundings, his stomach churned. 

“Hello, nephew.”. 

The room around them was resplendent, more simple than the luxuries of Vere, but more decadent than those of Akielos. There were several compartments to the room, an obvious bedroom with a sitting room off to the side. And there, on the bed, sat his uncle. 

He was there. In the flesh. The traitorous, regicidal bastard who had torn Laurent’s world apart. His uncle sat poised  _ right in front of him. _

“Uncle,” he attempted to keep his voice steady, though his heart was pounding in his chest. 

“You look as though you’ve had a bout of trouble, nephew.” His uncle stood, moving closer, leaning in as if to inspect his handiwork. “Did that mouth of yours finally catch up with you?”

Laurent bristled but remained silent, glaring at his uncle with narrowed, hate-filled eyes. 

“Silent for once? What a surprise.” His uncle gazed down at him with a poorly concealed expression of glee on his face. 

“I want to speak to Torveld,” Laurent said coldly, attempting to command as much authority and control as possible. 

“Prince Torveld is otherwise occupied, I’m afraid.”

“Then King Torgeir. I was promised an audience with the King.”

His uncle smirked, an ugly, haughty expression under his dark facial hair. “Oh, an audience you shall have, nephew. In fact, you’re to be  _ presented  _ to him. As a gift. The Patrans do love their slaves, don’t they? I assume that should you behave yourself, you might even get treated to some sweetmeats. That is, if the King has been properly sated beforehand...”

“You think to sell me into  _ slavery _ , Uncle? I am the King of Vere,” Laurent growled through his teeth. 

“Not anymore... Hadn’t you heard? The King of Vere has been murdered. Murdered by his own lover, the King of Akielos. They found his body mutilated beyond recognition just south of the border...only able to be identified because of the golden cuff around his wrist...and the golden ring on his finger.”

Laurent realized it then. The cuff, the ring. They were gone. They must have been taken from him after the struggle in the woods. Anger flared through him hot and acidic. 

“The ring,” he said, his tone dangerous. “Give it back.”

“Oh, this?” His uncle reached into his robe and withdrew a small golden trinket, unmistakably Damen’s mother’s ring. “Wherever did you come across a thing so drab as this? Ahh...let me guess...the barbarian king offered it to you as a symbol of engagement, did he?”

Laurent was trembling with rage. “I will have that ring.”

“You will not. In fact, I’m taking it with me. The King of Akielos will answer for his crimes against Vere. But first, I will see him suffer as I have suffered. I will see him mourn for your death before I take his head.” His uncle’s face had soured. He tucked the ring back away within the folds of his robe. “Laurent of Vere is dead. You are nothing. You are no one. You will spend the rest of your life as nothing more than a set of pretty holes to be filled. Do you understand?” 

His uncle reached out to run a hand through his hair. Laurent felt a chill run down his spine, revulsion sweeping through him like a sickness. “And when King Torgeir has had his fill of you, they’ll cut that wicked tongue from your head and pass you around all of Patras until you’re used up and worn out and death will seem a mercy to you.”

“So what then? After you frame Damianos for my murder and sell me off to Patras like a painted whore? You think the people of Vere will accept you now, after what you’ve done? The people will not see you crowned. You’ll rule over nothing but ashes after the people burn the city to the ground. You saw my father killed. The people know of your crimes.”

“Words of a tired old man. He would have said whatever he was asked to say, as enamored as he was of  _ you _ . All speculation. No proof. And when the people hear of your death, they will pine for revenge against your killer. They will shout from the rooftops how they knew Akielos would be your downfall. The barbarian king who ensnared Laurent of Vere, who betrayed him and took his life. When we rally together against lAkielos, everything else will be forgotten.”

“They will not forget,” Laurent snarled. “They will not so easily turn on Damen. Not after everything he has done for them.”

“When did you become so soft, nephew? Is your head so filled with the first blossomings of  _ love  _ that you’ve forgotten the cruelties of this world? Did I not teach you…? You are alone. You can trust no one. You’re a fool if you’ve forgotten that.”

“You’re wrong,” Laurent spat. “You’ve always been wrong. You wanted so badly for me to shut the world out, to assume I was surrounded by enemies at all times.When you found you could no longer control me, you decided to dispatch me.”

His uncle shook his head, grin like a snarl on his face. “Oh you stupid boy. You play into my hand, you always have. You fell in love with the barbarian king, just as I intended. And now I’ll  _ dispatch _ two enemies for the price of one. When I am ruling on my throne, when Akielos is nothing but dust and rubble, I’ll get great pleasure imagining you being fucked within an inch of your life without a tongue to chew on.”

A knock sounded at the door behind them. “His Majesty, the King of Patras,” came the voice on the other side of the door. 

“Ahh, and now is your chance for that audience I promised you,” Laurent’s uncle said slyly, before directing his attention back to the door. “Please do come in, Your Highness.”

He drew himself into a submissive bow as the door swung open. 

Laurent kept his eyes lowered and forward as several pairs of footsteps entered the room. 

“Your Highness,” Laurent’s uncle said, his tone flowing and delicate. His hand covered his heart in a gesture of submission as the King of Patras and several of his armed guards filtered into the room. “May I present to you what will be your finest acquisition, a prized jewel for your menagerie.”

A hand slid under Laurent’s chin to bring his features into the light. Laurent’s eyes were immediately drawn to King Torgeir, an older version of his brother Torveld. Handsome, dark complexioned. But where Torveld’s face was kind, often sporting a gentle smile or flushed cheeks, King Torgeir was hard, as if crafted from stone. His brows were severe, pulled together in a frown as he assessed Laurent. 

“You did not exaggerate his beauty,” Torgeir’s voice was deep and masculine, a silky smooth purr that Laurent did not doubt could be menacing should the need call for it. “I’ve never seen him in person before.”

“I should warn you this rose has thorns,” Laurent’s uncle said and Torgeir smirked. 

“I should expect nothing less. I’ve heard the rumors. A golden prince with the tongue of a snake...”

Laurent kept his eyes on the King, his chin held high in pride, despite the blood still dried on his face. “You are making a grave mistake, Your Highness.” He forced the words out, forced himself to remain poised and proud. “I am King Laurent of Vere. Your brother Prince Torveld assured my safety in meeting with you to discuss the trade between our two - !”

The words were struck from his lips as he was backhanded across the face. He could taste blood in his mouth as he defiantly raised his eyes once more to stare into the face of the man who had struck him. King Torgeir was stoically wiping Laurent’s blood from his knuckles with a handkerchief, a wicked grin stretched across his cheeks.

“Laurent of Vere, hmm? Is that what you think?” The flash of his green eyes served as the only warning before Torgeir descended on Laurent, grasping his chin in a tight fist, forcing their eyes to meet. “You are Laurent of Vere no longer. You are but a slave in my court, an object at my disposal. Did your uncle not tell you? Laurent of Vere is dead. The new King seeks to re-establish trade with Patras. And so we side with him in avenging the death of  _ Laurent of Vere,  _ the golden prince. King but for a day.” 

A small noise of discomfort in the corner of the room drew the attention of its occupants. Laurent had not at first noticed Torveld standing there. He looked less than a man, standing with his shoulders hunched and his head bowed. His face was a mask of torment.

“Brother?” Torgeir snapped. “Have something to say, do you?”

“Torgeir, Your Highness…” Torveld stumbled. “You...you promised me that he wasn’t to be hurt. You promised me - !”

“I promised you I would treat him with all the respect and dignity he deserves, did I not?” Torgeir dropped his grip on Laurent’s chin and stalked to his brother, his hands twitching at his sides. “You betrayed my trust once already for this  _ boy _ , have you not? Rode out to his aid when he called for you like a bitch in heat? Not again, brother. I promise you I shall not be as lenient this time.”

“Brother, I...I did as you asked,” Torveld’s voice was thin. “You promised me…”

“I did. I made you a promise, didn’t I? And now I give you the opportunity to make good on that promise. Which pretty blond head would you like to see off the block tonight? This one?” He gestured towards Laurent. “Or the other?”

_ Erasmus.  _

Torveld swallowed hard. Laurent could see his Adam’s apple bobbing precariously in his throat. After a moment, his head fell to his chest in defeat. “Please...please give him back to me.”

“If I put the slave back into your possession, I will expect you to keep your mouth shut and your cheek turned. I will expect to hear no more about the treatment of  _ Laurent of Vere.  _ Do you understand?”

Torveld’s eyes met Laurent’s for the briefest of moments, pained and ashamed. Finally, he broke away, meeting his brothers harsh gaze. He nodded solemnly. “Yes. I understand.”

King Torgeir looked to the men of his armed guard. “Give my brother back his slave.” 

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed all but three of them them. Torveld followed, eyes perpetually staring at the ground. 

The air around them was stiff with tension as they stared at each other. The King. The former Regent. And Laurent. 

Laurent scoffed. He couldn’t help himself, though he knew it to be a sure fire way to get hit again. “So that’s how the King of Patras likes to play his hand, is it? Against slaves who don’t know how to fight back?”

Torgeir unveiled a smile that made Laurent’s skin crawl. “Ahh, but they all fight back eventually, if pushed hard enough. It’s called survival. An animal in enough pain, even a docile one, will bare its teeth to protect itself from more pain. But perhaps you’ve never been pushed that far…”

He moved closer, weaving a hand through Laurent’s hair. The golden strands fell about Torgeir’s long, slim fingers and Laurent shuddered at the touch.

“So beautiful. But it’s hard to see those remarkable features under all that blood. If I’m to enjoy my gift, I’ll want to enjoy him freshly bathed.”

“Touch me again and it will be the last thing you do,” Laurent snarled. 

“Now is that anyway for a slave to speak to his master?” Torgeir crossed his arms and gazed down at Laurent. 

The Regent was staring at them with a glimmer in his dazzling blue eyes. Blue eyes that Laurent knew looked so much like his own. “This one is not well trained, Your Highness. Once, I tried to train him. But it seems my hand was not up to the task.”

“I like a good challenge.” He motioned for the three remaining guards to move forward. “Take him to the baths. Clean him up then bring him to my chambers. The King of Vere and I have much to discuss before he reclaims his throne.”

Torgeir turned toward the Regent, leading him to take a seat near the smoldering fireplace, as his guards moved to again bring Laurent to his feet. But Laurent would not go quietly. As hands gripped him under the armpits and pulled him up, Laurent thrust his head back and slammed his skull into the face of the guard directly behind him. 

A cry of pain, the crunch of bone echoed through the room. Though Laurent’s arms were still tied behind his back, he was able to screw his elbow to the side and thrust with all his body's force, slamming hard into the belly of the guard on his left. Just as he was about to land a booted blow to the face of the guard now on the ground, he was again tackled to the floor, his face slamming down hard on the stone. 

Three guards were perhaps too many to overcome alone, unarmed, with his arms tied behind his back. He roared in rage and struggled with all his might, but he was now held fast by three angry men who now knew to anticipate his noncooperation. 

As he was sufficiently pinned, a fist dug deep into his hair to pull him back and restrain him, eyes locked forward. Torgeir was staring at him with a strange expression. One that said he had not expected Laurent to fight back. But he did not look displeased to have seen it.

“I’ll die before I’ll be anyone’s bed slave,” he growled. “Hurt me all you want. Break my bones. Kill me. I won’t lay with you like some castrated whore. I am the King!” He struggled against the tight restraints, gritting his teeth in defiance “My uncle is a murderer and a traitor to his country. Vere will never see him crowned. You’ll never see our countries joined. Not with him as your champion for the throne.” 

Laurent’s voice was steady though his body was shaking with adrenaline and desperation. He could see a twinge of fear, of hatred, reflected in his uncle’s face. He continued, praying his words would have some impact, any impact on the stalworth King before him. “If you release me now, I will be magnanimous. I will parlay with you and negotiate our alliance. I will forget this entire  _ misunderstanding  _ ever happened. However, if you see this plan of yours through, if you side with my uncle, you will never see peace. Akielos will rise against you. My barbarian is an honorable one...but he is not forgiving. Once he finds out what you have done - !”

Torgeir began to laugh, a deep, rumbling chortle that started in his throat and reverberated through his stomach, shaking his body and echoing around the room. The Regents eyes were wide as if even he could not predict this man. Laurent felt his resolve failing.

“You pretty little fool! You think I want  _ peace _ ?” Torgeir stood, his presence imposing and intimidating with its massive shoulders and gold green eyes. “You think I care about the alliance with Vere or Akielos? You’re sorely mistaken. I care only about Patras. I care about wealth. I care about our thriving economy. I care about our way of life. You and your Akielon King threaten the way Patras has lived and operated since its birth. The foundation of this world has been built on the backs of slaves!”

With each word, Torgeir was moving closer and closer until he and Laurent were only inches apart. The King surprisingly took a knee, meeting Laurent’s eyes directly, holding them captive in his intense gaze.

Laurent refused to allow their proximity to dissuade him. “There are other goods to be traded.”

“Nothing so bountiful, nothing so prosperous as the slave trade. The Patran economy has long remained afloat, even amongst the worst of times, because of what our slaves have to offer. Their training, their docile natures. They are worth ten times as much as any other good or service at our disposal. And I won’t see my country flounder because of the noble  _ ideals  _ of,” he traced Laurent’s battered lower lip with the pad of his thumb, “soft hearted young men.”

Laurent turned away, his body burning with rage and disgust. “So you’ll face war, you’ll face your country’s eradication, all to preserve a morally corrupt and dying system?”

“There will be no war. Once your uncle is crowned to the throne of Vere, he will reestabliah the slave trade, thereby solidifying our alliance. We will demand Damianos of Akielos be tried for his crimes. And if he does not comply, we will move in with our combined forces and lay siege to Akielos. We will root him out stem and stern. And once Akielos has been made to heel, once Damianos has been executed, we will place our own champion on the throne. One who will support our aims. Or else Akielos and all its people will burn to the ground.”

“You would eradicate an entire kingdom? For what? To make a point?” Laurent could not hide his revulsion. 

“Precisely.” Torgeir's lips stretched into a sneer. “For too long has Patras been viewed as a lesser force by our enemies. We have been biding our time, growing ever stronger. And now our force is larger and more powerful than any other. Our wealth is enormous. Our men highly trained. And they will see the Regent into the city of Arles as an armed guard, killing any that stand in their way. Starting with those who would question his rule by remaining loyal to you.”

“If you harm anyone in that city…!”

“You’ll  _ what?”  _ Torgeir’s fist gripped the back of Laurent’s neck, his nails digging into the soft white flesh. “Once I’m done with you, you won’t be able to walk, much less move against me in any meaningful way. From here forward, you'll be chained naked to my bed, drugged out of your mind, serving only to satisfy my purposes, my pretty little pet.”

Laurent had little warning before his lips were swallowed up by Torgeir’s harsh mouth. He struggled, but the kiss was all tongue and teeth, the hands restraining him unyielding. Laurent’s attempt to pull away was thwarted as Torgeir bit down hard on his already swollen lower lip. Laurent gasped in response to the sharp pain.

When finally the King pulled back, Laurent tasted fresh blood. 

“You honorless bastard…” His voice was a hoarse growl. 

“Take him,” Torgeir stood, motioning for his guards to resume their removal of Laurent from the room.

Panic rose to Laurent’s throat.  _ No no no. Not again.  _ In desperation, he struggled, but it was a fruitless attempt. He was once again plunged into darkness as the blindfold was tied tightly back over his eyes.

* * *

_ “Hello, nephew.”  _

_ Blue eyes were wide as they looked down upon Laurent’s small, trembling form standing in the doorway. _

_ “I woke and I was...alone,” he muttered weakly, ashamed of his despondency. _

_ Uncle held out a hand to him, leaning in so as to make his larger form less imposing. Laurent, at thirteen, did not need such posturing. But under the circumstances, he would accept it. He was desperate to no longer be alone. _

_ Laurent took his uncle's hand and followed him into his chambers. It was dark outside. The room was lit with a few solitary candles that cast a warm orange glow. Laurent wrapped his arms around himself, feeling the tears come again, unbidden, to his eyes. _

_ This room had once, not so long again, belonged to his father. These rooms belonged to the King of Vere. _

_ “Sweet one, I know this will be a trying time for you.” His uncle’s voice was kind and calm as he knelt to come face to face with Laurent. “You’ve lost your brother...and I have lost mine. It seems we now only have each other. You understand that, don’t you? There is no one else we can trust in this world but ourselves.” _

_ Laurent’s eyes widened. A tear fell down his cheek and he cursed himself for his own weakness. He raised a hand to stubbornly brush the wetness away, but his uncle caught him before he was able. Gently, his uncle brought Laurent’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. Then, gently, he wiped Laurent’s cheek. _

_ “You’re such a beautiful boy, Laurent. It pains me to see you cry.” He opened his arms, bidding Laurent to take solace against his wide, warm chest. “Come here, love. Will you let me hold you?” _

_ Laurent considered refusing, but the thought of being held, of being touched, was so overwhelming, so potent and all consuming. He stepped into his uncle’s arms and buried his face in his uncle’s shoulder. His uncle's hands came to circle around him, to pet his hair, to caress his back. _

_ Laurent breathed in the comfort like oxygen. He allowed himself to be cradled, to be coddled, to be held.  _

_ The tears began to fall again. _

_ “Shhh...sweet boy. No more tears. I was just about to retire. It’s very late…” _

_ Laurent gasped, his heart keening to be near the only family he had left. “Please uncle...please. Don’t...don’t make me go. Can’t I…?” Sobs began to wrack his form. He clutched tighter to his uncle’s robes. “Don’t leave me alone.” _

_ He felt his uncle’s stare, felt the intensity of that deep blue gaze. “Laurent...you are thirteen now. Almost a man. Aren’t you too old to share my chambers?” _

_ Laurent shook his head desperately. “I’m not too old,” he whispered. “Please, uncle. Please let me stay.” _

_ His uncle’s hand resumed its stroking of Laurent’s hair. He sighed. “Of course you can stay, Laurent. But we wouldn’t want anyone to think the crown prince of Vere a baby...so this should be our little secret, all right?” _

_ Laurent felt he could breathe again. He nodded, feeling the hint of a smile touch his tear-streaked features. “Yes, uncle.” _

_ “Good then. It’s settled. I like to have a glass of wine before bed. Would you care for one?” _

_ Laurent flushed. He’d never been allowed wine before. Auguste had always said he was too young. But it was just uncle now. And if uncle thought him old enough... _

_ He nodded, wiping his eyes. His uncle pinched his cheek gently with a small smile. From anyone else, the gesture might have felt condescending. But from his uncle, it was playful, a gesture of endearment.  _

_ He took the glass of wine that his uncle offered him, drinking fully until the glass was drained. It had a sweet taste and within a few moments, he felt better, more relaxed. His head was buzzing and his body swaying.  _

_ “Let’s get you into bed, sweet one.” _

_ He could feel his uncle’s hands on him, undressing him, slipping him out of his boots and his jacket. Now, uncle was lifting him into bed, cradling him close, massaging his scalp, his shoulders, his neck. His eyes fluttered closed. _

_ He was safe. With uncle, he was no longer alone. _

* * *

The guards were not gentle with his preparations. Still his hands were bound, but this time, they were bound to a hook in the ceiling, lifting them high above his head. 

His tattered and dirty clothes were cut from his body to bare him faster. And then, once he stood completely naked in front of them, the guards scoured his body with water and soap, scrubbing him raw. 

He could smell it before he felt it’s effects. The sweet, overpowering aroma of Challis. Challis to make him docile. Challis to make him obey. It struck him as ironic then, that he had done the same thing to Damen all those long months ago. 

Thinking about Damen  _ hurt _ , but it was at least a distraction from the task at hand, the rough cloths scrubbing at his most delicate parts, forcing him open, humiliating him.  _ Preparing  _ him. 

When finally they were finished, they threw a trailing swath of silk over his naked shoulders, draping it around him like a robe. He was now feeling the effects of the Challis in his limbs, as if he was wading through syrup, sticky and thick. He stumbled as they moved him forward, pushing him with rough, forceful hands. His head was swimming now, his heart racing. He felt dizzy and terrified and desperate for escape.

The blindfold still covering his eyes, Laurent struggled to keep track of his footsteps, the directions in which he was forced to move. He did his best to commit those movements to memory, though his mind was a cloudy fog.

They stopped eventually and he heard the knock that communicated their arrival. No response answered from the other side of the door. His captors spoke to each other in Patran.

“He’s still with that warmongering Veretian.”

“He said to bring the slave to his chambers. It’ll be a late night for him.”

They didn’t know he could speak Patran. Laurent’s mind was whirring, struggling with the Challis to remain sharp. As the door to what Laurent assumed was the King’s Chambers was pushed open, Laurent forced himself to speak.

“You don’t trust the new Veretian King. You shouldn’t.”

The guards holding him froze. He had spoken their language, clear and crisp with only the slightest of Veretian accents. They did not move to hit him, so he continued.

“If that traitor is allowed to sit on the throne, he will seek war. With Akielos. With the Vaskian Empire. With anyone he thinks may undermine his rule. He will send Patras into turmoil without second thought. He does not care about the people of Patras, the men who serve its military. He cares only about himself.”

Forceful hands were tugging sharply on his hair now, mottling him into submission. “You keep your mouth shut, slave. You’re nothing more than a toy for the King to fuck.”

“Perhaps,” Laurent choked out. “But you as members of his guard, should not you have a right to know what this  _ alliance  _ will mean for the kingdom you serve? You know I’m right. This new King of Vere will being death and destruction for Patras. You know I’m right!”

A slap across his face had Laurent falling back. His body slammed against a wooden frame, a plush mattress. The King’s bed. 

He didn’t have time to react. The guards were on him, forcing him to the bed, chaining his bound hands once again above his head. From off to the side of the room, he could hear glass clinking, liquid pouring. Then something cold was pressed to his lips. 

“Drink up, Princess.”

Laurent’s mouth was forced open and a bitter tasting wine was poured inside. Hands were then wrapped around his lips, holding them closed, covering his nose. He had no choice but to swallow. 

He knew the taste, the feeling that was spreading through his body, tingling, insistent, unyielding. Tears formed in the corner of his eyes as his cock began to stir. 

“Already feeling it, are you, Princess?”

Roughly callused hands were trailing over his exposed chest, leaving his skin tingling in their wake. Laurent struggled as he felt a hungry touch trail over his aching cock, before sliding in between his legs.

“Knock it off. He’s for the King.”

The touch retreated, but still Laurent’s body ached. He remembered this feeling. He had most recently experienced it the night Damen had first saved his life in Arles. But that night has not been his first experience with the Akielon pleasure drug. Far from it. He was in for a long night of misery, he knew.

He gritted his teeth, clenched his hands into fists, willed himself to keep his breathing slow and controlled. Steady. But his body yearned to be touched. It cried out for release as if it was on fire. 

The guards had moved away, though he still detected their presence. They were watching him, ensuring he did not escape. Not that he could in his current state. Blindfolded, bound and drugged. Laurent resigned himself to his fate. He would not allow any of them to see his weakness.

It seemed hours before the door next opened. 

Torgeir’s voice snapped, “Leave us,” and three pairs of booted footsteps retreated. The door shut and Laurent could sense the King's presence, could feel the heat of his stare.

“Hello, pet.” His voice caused a wave of nausea to crash through Laurent’s already tense body. He remained completely still, like a rabbit caught in the crosshairs of a dangerous predator. 

“Don’t you make a pretty picture,” Torgeir’s voice was smooth as silk but dripping with acid, poisonous and deadly. 

Still, Laurent remained silent, fighting against his body’s desperation to be touched, to succumb to trailing hands and tangling limbs. He would not willingly let anyone touch him. No one but Damen. Not while he had strength enough to fight.

“You’ll be happy to know your uncle has departed Patras. He’ll bother you no longer. Now he will take up his rightful place on the throne. And you will take up yours. In my bed. Night after night.”

Smooth, unworked hands opened over his chest. Laurent clenched his teeth to keep from crying out. the touch felt  _ good,  _ it felt orgasmic. But Laurent did not want it. His body strained against it yet craved it at the same time.

“Does that feel good, pet?” Torgeir’s whispered against Laurent’s ear, his breath hot and laced with wine. “Do you want more?”

“I’ll kill you,” Laurent managed to choke. “Do this and I’ll kill you.”

Torgeir’s laugh reverberated around the room. His teeth sank into Laurent’s neck and bit down, drawing blood.

“Don’t worry.” Laurent could feel Torgeir’s weight shifting upon the mattress. He could feel the King positioning himself between his legs. “Your uncle told me just how you like it.”

Laurent closed his eyes, thought of Damen. Only Damen. Damen’s kind brown eyes. His warm skin. His gentle touch.

_ I love you, Laurent. _

_ You’re everything to me. _

_ I’ll never hurt you. _

Laurent imagined that it was Damen slipping inside of him, Damen thrusting, Damen pumping vigorously at his cock.

But Damen would never bite him, scratch him, make him bleed. Damen would never laugh at his tears.

As tears leaked from, Laurent thought only of Damen.  _ I’ll find my way back to you, my love, _ he vowed.  _ I’ll do everything in my power to get back to you. To survive. To protect you. I won’t let anyone hurt you. _

_ Damen.  _

_ Damen.  _

_ Damen. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really nervous to post this chapter. I am assuming if you started the story, you read the warnings. 
> 
> Next chapter is a Damen chapter - I'm hoping you're all still on board.   
I've got some good stuff in store - angst, yes but the story will have a happy ending. 
> 
> I love your comments and your kudo's and your support! Thank you all so much! Muah!


	6. Chapter 6

Damen’s trek home to Akielos saw him in an incredibly  _ adequate  _ mood. His body was sore in all the best ways from a delicious round of lovemaking that he would remember for the rest of his life, even if it did have him sitting awkwardly in his saddle.

His good mood was assuredly written across his face, and from the sated expression that Pallas wore, he had had similarly pleasant night. 

As they rode side by side, Damen asked, “Was Lazar surprised to see you?”

Pallas grinned. “About as surprised as  _ His Highness  _ was to see you.”

“You had an enjoyable night then?” Damen’s dark brows quirked playfully.

Pallas nodded, his dark cheeks seeming to flush in the bright sunlight. “Yes. Thank you, Exalted, for bringing me along. I had been...missing him.”

Damen sighed, remembering the feel of Laurent’s hands, the touch of his lips, his contented sighs, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. “I know the feeling.”

Their journey home would be five days on horseback. But it was well worth the time they had spent in Arles. Damen would never forget the look in Laurent’s eyes at seeing him in the great hall. 

_ He didn’t expect it, _ Damen thought.  _ After everything, he does not think himself worthy of that kind of treatment. Of this kind of love. _

Damen wanted to spend the rest of their lives together proving Laurent’s worth to him. Proving this love that had developed slowly and then consumed him. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to. He wanted to spoil Laurent, to make him feel so loved. Because it was what he deserved. 

Damen thought about Laurent wearing his mother’s ring, about the delicate gold band that symbolized their love, their promise to one another. Everyone would soon know that that ring on Laurent’s finger was given to him from the King of Akielos, that they belonged to each other. That Laurent would be his husband, a King to rule at his side.

Damen knew he was lagging dreamily, but Pallas did not seem to mind the pace. They rode together side by side, mostly quiet, but happy.

Ios was abuzz with activity upon their homecoming. No doubt Nikandros had done his best to hide the King's absence from his people, but as Damen entered the city gates with his hood pulled over his head, the people flocked to him as if they had been expecting his return.

“Exalted!” They cried out in greeting! “Welcome home!”

It seemed in Akielos, Damen could do no wrong. The people loved him. He was thankful for that love, hoping that one day, the people of Vere and Akielos would join together to welcome  _ both _ of their Kings home in much the same way. 

He glanced at Pallas with a sly smile. “Seems someone in my council is not good at keeping my secrets.”

Pallas laughed. “Or perhaps we are not as crafty as we think we are.”

Damen grinned, nodding his agreement. “I think that is more likely.” He dismounted his horse to walk among his people, touching their hands and accepting their greetings. He was not afraid in Akielos. It was as if this place, his home, was separated from all the tribulations of the outside world. Akielos was a safe place. Soon, they would make the rest of the world the same. 

As they approached the palace, Pallas took Damen’s horse in hand and led both of their mounts away to the stables. Nikandros stood at the top of the palace steps overlooking the city, obviously having been alerted by the commotion of Damen’s arrival. His arms were crossed over his chest and as was typical, his mouth was set in a terse, disapproving line. 

_ Welcome home Exalted,  _ Damen thought to himself with a sly grin on his face. 

“Nik,” Damen said, extending his arms in greeting to his Kyros. Nikandros accepted his embrace, though his eyebrows were still pulled together disdainfully. 

“I’ll assume you accomplished your mission in Vere then, Exalted?” Nik’s voice was low and reproachful, though Damen was determined not to let Nik’s sour disposition hamper his own vibrantly good mood. 

“I did,” he said, slapping an arm around Nikandros’s shoulder. “I certainly did.”

“I hope whatever it was that needed doing was worth the time we’ve lost without you here.”

Damen’s mind couldn’t help but drift to the look on Laurent’s face, the ring around his finger. “It was,” he said, then smiled his most winning smile at his oldest friend. “Call a council meeting, Nik. We have much to discuss.”

“We do indeed, Exalted. There is much talk of the slave transition. It was only a few days after the announcement that you left for Vere and the people feel they have not had their concerns addressed.”

“You spoke for me, I’m sure.”

Nikandros clicked his teeth, his frown deepening. “I am not the King, Exalted.”

“But you are my closest friend and my most trusted advisor. Surely you felt competent enough to speak on my behalf.” He chuckled internally at Nikandros’s reddening cheeks. “I’m only joking, my friend,” he said after a tense moment. “Of course, I did not expect you to perform all the duties of the King in my absence. But whatever you did, it worked well enough. The kingdom did not come crashing down. I did not arrive to my palace in flames. The people seem happy enough. I’m grateful for your help.”

Nikandros stilled, some of his frown dissipating. His exhaustion was clear. Standing before Damen was a man pushed to his limits. “Damen, as your friend, you cannot continue to carry on like this. You cannot leave your kingdom on romantic whims. Would the King of Vere have done the same for you?”

Damen’s smile fell at those words. There was still so much distrust, so much unrest between Nikandros and Laurent. How could there not be? Nik had seen the scars...but he had never been allowed to see the man that Damen knew Laurent to be. The kind, gentle, intelligent and sometimes playful man he had always been deep down.

“He would have. There are no limits to the things that Laurent would do for me, Nik.”

“ _ For _ you or  _ to  _ you? We’ve seen the scars he gave you. What’s next? Ripping your nails out with pliers when you don’t agree with his politics?”

Damen managed a small laugh. “Nik...why are you so willfully blind to the good he has done? Does his blond hair displease you that much?

He saw Nikandros bristle at that comment. “His  _ manner _ displeases me. He’s barbed wire, Damen. You’re going to get cut…”

“I love him,” Damen said softly and Nikandros’s dark eyes widened. 

“Damen…”

“I do. More than anyone or anything else in this world.” Nikandros opened his mouth to protest but Damen held up a hand to silence him, a coy smile playing at his lips. “And not because he has blond hair and blue eyes.  _ That  _ is just an additional, and completely superfluous, benefit beyond what I already love about him.”

Nikandros rolled his eyes, pressing an exasperated hand to his temple as if being in Damen’s presence was causing him pain. 

“I’m going to marry him, Nik.” 

Now, Nikandros looked like he might choke. “Excuse me?”

“You can’t really be surprised by that?” Damen crossed his arms over his chest. But Nik looked to be wavering, on the brink of a cataclysmic storm of emotions. 

He sputtered and then finally sighed in defeat. “Damen...you are playing a dangerous game with this one. You’re wagering your kingdom on the hope that the viper won’t kill you on your wedding night. What’s to happen to Akielos if something happens to you? What will be left of our lifestyle, our traditions? Our past?”

“Laurent would never hurt me, Nik.”

“That’s not true! You bare the scars on your back that prove it!” Nikandros looked angry now and the heat of the fire in his eyes stopped Damen in his tracks. This was past the playful banter of two childhood friends. This was a Kyros who feared for his country. For his King. Damen felt a twinge of guilt in his chest. 

“Nik, I’m sorry,” he said softly. The words seemed to stun Nikandros, who stood watching him with wide eyes and mouth agape. Nik was poised to fight, but Damen had no intention of allowing their conversation to escalate. “I’m sorry for placing an overly large burden on your shoulders. Perhaps you’re right. In this love, I may have lost myself. While I won’t apologize for loving him, I will admit that I was wrong in not consulting you, not thinking further than the span of an arm’s length to announce the transition from slavery. I should have given the announcement more thought, more time. For that, I’m sorry.”

Nikandros huffed out a frustrated breath, but seemed placated. His brow had lost some of its angry furrow, at least. 

“I can promise you, Nik,” Damen continued, “that I know Laurent. I know his heart. I trust him implicitly. He is honorable and true and fair. He gave me these scars when he knew me only as the monster who had killed his brother. He acted out of impulse and out of pain...He acted as any man would have when faced with his most hated enemy. But through time, he learned to accept me as a man, to love me despite the wrongs I had committed against him. He had no reason to love me. No reason to trust me, nor to be kind to me. But he did. And he  _ does _ . If anything were to happen to me, Nik, I would trust Laurent to honor Akielos. To rule it justly and fairly and to keep its traditions alive. If you trust nothing else, Nik, trust me. Can you do that? Please?”

There was a moment of hesitation as Nikandros studied him. Damen could see his friend giving in as the faintest hint of a smile played at Nik’s lips.

“Damn you, Damen.” Nik playfully aimed a fist at Damen’s arm and it landed without any real force. “You better not be wrong.”

“Can’t you just be happy for me?” Damen asked ruefully. “I’m soon to be a married man.”

“At least it’s not Jokaste,” Nikandros muttered as they made their way to the throne room. “Though, honestly, the only difference between those two is what is or isn’t swinging between their legs.”

Damen threw his head back in laughter. All was right in the world. 

As Damen settled into the throne, Nikandros rounded up the members of his council, beckoning them for an impromptu council meeting and planning session. Most of them seemed pleased, even relieved to see him once again occupying the place meant for their King. But there were some who seemed uncertain, hesitant. 

One man in particular, with thick, dark brows and facial hair, and possessing a tall, stocky form, eyed Damen with suspicion. He was wrapped in a long flowing chiton dyed a deep and vibrant red. “Exalted, it is good to see you back on the throne,” the man said warily. There was an air of testiness in his voice. “There has been much unrest amongst the nobility of Ios. Good people concerned about losing their property - !”

Damen stiffened. “Human beings aren’t property.”

The man smirked. “A conclusion you have only recently come to, Exalted. If you don’t mind me saying...you have had many slaves warm your bed…”

“Not anymore,” Damen’s voice was stern, his eyes burning with a seriousness he had not felt in some time. “My mind has been changed. Slavery changed me.”

“The King of Vere did not treat you kindly under his care?” The tone was mocking and Damen’s eyes narrowed in response. 

“There is nothing so humiliating, so inhumane as taking a man’s freedom from him. I’m not declaring that we stop the practice of  _ service _ . I am declaring that we make it a choice. If there remain courtiers and nobility who wish to keep their former slaves in the service of their households, let them pay those former slaves a living wage. If there are slaves that wish to remain in the service of their former masters, let them do so...but let them work for a price. No more shackles. No more force.No more mistreatment. I promised I would protect the people of Akielos, that I would honor them. That includes  _ all  _ the people of Akielos.”

“So you suggest a transition period?” Another voice from his assembled council spoke out. 

“Of course. We have a docket of all the slaves and slave owners currently living in Akielos, I’m sure? Adrastus must have had one. Who took his place as Keeper of Slaves?”

“I did, Exalted.” It was the man who had first spoken, the one who’s seething remarks should have given him away. “Artem, Exalted. Keeper of the Slaves of Akielos.”

“Artem, is it? Well Artem, I’ll charge you with consulting the roster of current slaves and slave owners. We will need to give the current slaves a choice. To remain in service or to seek another way of life. It shall be the slave’s choice first and foremost. Should they choose to stay in their current employ, their chains will be removed and the slave owner will be required to pay that slave a living wage while they are in service. Should the slave choose another way, the crown will help them seek new employment. And we will pay reparations for the price of the slave. So the master of the house can seek new service.”

“Exalted - !” Arminian, the master of coin sputtered. “You cannot be serious! The crown cannot pay for the freedom of every slave in Akielos - !”

“I do not imagine that we will,” Damen said stoically. “Akielos treats its slaves fairly. Often kindly. Many slaves become a part of the household, even a part of the family. I imagine that most slaves will choose to stay with their current masters. But under a new structure. One that is more fair, more equal.”

“But what  _ if _ ?” Arminian continued. “What  _ if _ , Exalted?”

“Then we will make do. If every slave in Akielos decides to leave and venture into out into the world, we will allow them to do it. As free men and women. That is my will as King. Do you understand?”

The room was silent, the air around them tense with expectation. 

Artem shifted on his feet. “And when do you imagine us to start this process, Exalted?”

“Immediately,” Damen said without thinking. “The sooner the better. We will join our free Kingdom with that of Vere. Our people will merge with theirs. The sooner we have this messy business of the slave transition over with, the sooner we can focus on building our new capitol and joining our kingdoms.”

“New capitol?” The room erupted into whisperings and uncomfortable titterings.

Damen remained calm, his face implacable. “We will begin construction on a new palace at Marlas.”

“But Exalted - !”

“You can’t be serious - !”

“Exalted, this is madness. Your people are here. Your place is here.”

Through the commotion, Damen watched Nikandros’s face. His Kyros looked tired, but he didn't look surprised. For that, Damen felt grateful. Perhaps Nik had anticipated this. Hopefully, he would not merge his dissent with that of the other council members. 

“I have proposed marriage to the King of Vere.” Silence fell over the hall. Wide eyes blinked unceremoniously and mouths hung agage. Damen continued. “Our union will solidify our consolidation. And Marlas will become our home. It was one Kingdom once. A free people. A proud people. We have all but forgotten that fact. But with Vere at our side, there will be no more fighting, no more injustice. Together, Laurent and I will lead this joint nation to snuff out cruelty - to make it better.”

“And what of Patras, Exalted?” Artem asked, his bushy eyebrows drawn together. Damen didn’t like the condescending look on his arrogant face. “Are we to exclude Patras from our alliance? Cut them out of our trade negotiations? They have been one of our closest allies in the past...a civilized and prosperous nation. I’ve heard word that their military has become quite strong as of late...I’d be concerned to cut ties with them so carelessly.”

“It was never my intention to cut ties with Patras. In fact, I intend to send an emissary to confer with the King, to seek a new trade agreement.” He looked out at his councilors, his eyes falling on his Master of Trade, Heston, a tall, dark-skinned man of middle age. Heston was a loyal man, having served Theomedos well. When Damen spoke his name, Heston’s brown eyes lit up to be recognized.. “Heston. Will you do me that service?”

“You honor me, Exalted,” Heston bowed his head in admission. “When shall I depart?”

“Perhaps tomorrow. In the meantime, I want this council to carefully review our repertoire of goods and services - what could Patras offer us instead of slaves? I want to keep this relationship alive and flourishing. We fight for peace. Will you sit with me, brothers?”

The rest of the afternoon found Damen confronted with questions and overwhelming decisions. While he knew himself capable, he wished Laurent had been there with him, pouring over the finances, crafting the decrees, verbalizing the statements that would be made to the public. Laurent had a way of making everything look so easy, so smooth and well-crafted. All his plans were well-thought-out and meticulous. He had an answer for everything. He never doubted himself and shirked off any rebuttals with poise and confidence. 

Soon, Damen hoped, they would be able to do this side-by-side. 

When he was finally able to retire, Damen’s exhaustion had caught up with him. But what he had accomplished could not be overlooked. A plan was in place, trusted advisors had missions assigned to them. The transition was well underway. 

By morning, all houses with current slaves in their possession would be visited and presented with options for the transition. All former slaves would be freed, able to make their own decisions. And if they required it, they would be escorted to the palace for an audience with the King. There would be no retaliation, no uprising. This would be a peaceful transition. Damen was determined to make it so. 

He collapsed into his bed, his eyes sealing shut. But as he curled into bed and kicked off his boots, his mind drifted to Laurent and suddenly, he was  _ less  _ tired. I’m only a matter of moments body had become hot. 

He pictured Laurent’s mouth, the way he looked with Damen’s cock buried between his lips. Damen could almost see Laurent’s blue eyes staring up at him. He imagined running his hands through that long golden hair, grasping it in between his fingers, not enough to hurt, but just enough to claim, to beg for more. 

_ I love you, Damen.  _ Those words were seared into Damen’s soul. He remembered the unrelenting pleasure as Laurent slid inside him, the feeling of being so deeply filled. Before he knew it, his hand was down his pants, stroking himself in time with the memory of Laurent’s thrusts.

Damen longed for him, longed for those piercing blue eyes, for that sharp and dangerous tongue, for the lithe and supple body that had every nerve in Damen’s body quaking with desire. 

He moaned long and deep, clutching himself in one hand, his pillow in the other. In his mind, he imagined Laurent was touching himself as well, to a similar image.

His breath was coming fast now, as he hurdled towards release. 

_ I love you, Damen. _

Damen saw that gorgeous face, that winning smile in his mind as the wave of his orgasm consumed him. His hand, now soaked with his own seed, was trembling as he pulled off his cock. 

“Laurent,” he murmured into the darkness, before drifting off to sleep. 

His dreams were black and red and filled with pain and torment. Blond hair stained with blood. 

When he awoke, he was clutching his chest, his heart nearly pounding through his ribcage. A wave of nausea ripped him violently from the bed, retching into his chamber pot. 

_ It was just a dream,  _ he coaxed himself.  _ It was just a dream.  _

The next two days were beyond Damen’s comprehension. He had feared that there would be some pushback, some animosity from the former slave population. Most of these men and women had grown up as slaves. Most knew nothing else, no other way of life. But audience after audience, conversation after conversation, Damen was met with voices singing his praises and hearts filled with gratefulness. 

Several former slaves were given assignments in the royal household. Others volunteered to join and serve in the military. A large majority requested to stay with their former masters. But resentment was scarce. Damen wished Laurent had been there to share it with him. 

Meanwhile, Heston was sent on his journey to Patras to meet with the king. He was joined by a small caravan, toting some of the finest goods Akielos had to offer, a showing of support and good faith. Damen felt himself in good spirits, his ominous dreams forgotten. 

But a week later, a messenger arrived from Vere. 

Damen’s heart fluttered with anticipation as he sat upon his throne, awaiting the herald from his fiance. His excitement to see the blues and golds of the sunburst banner was dashed suddenly at what he saw instead. 

The King’s messenger stepped into the hall, all dressed in red livery. 

“Is this a joke?” Damen’s voice was cold. 

The messenger faltered under Damen’s dark gaze. “A...a joke? No, Your Highness! I mean, Exalted! The King of Vere sends word. He said to ensure this letter and its contents got to you and no one else. He says it's urgent.”

Damen beckoned the trembling young man forward, stretching out a hand to accept the message. As Damen tore open the envelope, his stomach clenched. A small gold trinket fell out onto his lap.

The ring. His mother’s ring.

Had Laurent had second thoughts? Was he terminating their engagement? Damen was trembling as he pulled out a letter, hand-written in flowing script. 

But it was not Laurent’s handwriting. 

_ To the Traitor Damianos of Akielos,  _

_ It is with a heavy heart that I demand repentance for the death of my nephew Laurent of Vere.  _

Damen froze, his throat dry as sand in a desert. He glanced up at the messenger with anger boiling in his dark eyes. 

“What are you playing at? Do you think this is funny?” he demanded, rising to his full height and towering over the young man, who could be no more than eighteen. 

“No...no! Exalted. No! Of course not!”

“The contents of this letter. Did you read them?”

The boy shook his head. “No, Exalted. The King told me to take the letter, to deliver it to you. He didn’t tell me what it was about!”

“The King. King Laurent?”

The boy’s eyes widened, his face flushed. He shook his head, swallowing hard. “No, Exalted. King Laurent is...dead…”

Damen felt his world slamming to a halt, the room was spinning, his stomach was churning. “Dead?”

“His body was found in the woods...less than a fortnight ago.” The boy was stammering and sweating, his entire body shaking under Damen’s demanding questions. 

“You’re lying!” Damen growled, wrapping a fist around the collar of the boy’s flowing red robes. 

“No!” the boy chirped. “No...I... saw the body! I…”

A question toyed at the tip of Damen’s tongue. He knew the answer before he asked, but he had to hear it said aloud. “Who now sits on the throne of Vere?” His voice was a dangerous growl. 

“His Uncle. The Regent! The Regent is King!”

The red livery was standing out in pure, vivid, hateful color. Damen collapsed into his throne, once again bringing the letter into his line of sight. He forced himself to continue reading.

_ To the Traitor Damianos of Akielos,  _

_ It is with a heavy heart that I demand repentance for the death of my nephew Laurent of Vere.  _

_ His body was found just south of the border into Akielos, mutilated beyond recognition. All that was left to decipher his identity was his pretty blond hair. And the cuff he took from your wrist. And the ring with which you ensnared him into accepting a proposal of marriage. Have it back. The sight of it only disgusts me, thinking how you tricked my you nephew into loving you. Before you murdered him.  _

_ We know what you have done. Sneaking into our Kingdom, ensnaring our King. And Vere is not kind to those who have wronged us. The people of Vere demand justice. We demand your presence in Arles to face a trial for the murder of King Laurent of Vere.  _

_ Come to Arles, Damanios. Own what you have done. Face the consequences and the full wrath of Veretian justice.  _

_ Or at least come to say goodbye to the boy you doomed with your “love.” _

_ Signed,  _

_ The King of Vere _

Damen was stunned into silence as he stared down at the letter. His hands were trembling. The words on the paper were bleeding into one another. The Regent was a liar. Laurent was not dead. He could not be dead. Only two weeks ago, they had lain together, made love, planned their future. Only two weeks ago, Laurent had looked at Damen with the softest blue eyes and told him that he loved him. He had told Damen that he would marry him. Only two weeks ago. 

Damen’s stomach lurched, remembering the dream he had had. Blood painting golden hair. Pain and fear and agony. 

_ No no no.  _ This couldn’t be true. This couldn’t be happening. 

The messenger boy was still folded in on himself in a terrified genuflection of submission. Damen could see him trembling out of the corner of his eye, but found he could not care. He cared about nothing but Laurent. 

Footsteps echoed from far off, growing ever closer as several pairs of boots entered the throne room. Damen did not look up as they approached. 

“Exalted? Damianos?” It was Nik. 

Damen looked up with glassy, unseeing eyes. 

“Damen, what is it?” Nikandros was still, poised, as if expecting the worse. It had been...years...since he had seen Damen like this. Damen, who had not even had time to mourn his own father’s death...but now faced what could be the most heartbreaking news he had ever had to confront. 

“It's not true,” Damen said softly, barely able to breathe. He looked up at Nik, locking eyes with his best friend and holding him steady in his gaze. “The Regent is a liar. It’s not true.”

He was shaking. Nikandros, though confused, held out a hand to him. “Let me see the letter, Damen.” Damen ignored him but Nik persisted. “Damen. Let me see it.”

With shaking hands, Damen gave Nikandros the letter. He watched Nikandros’s face as he read the flowing Veretian script. He saw brown eyes widen, saw horror dawn over his friend’s handsome features. 

When Nikandros again met Damen’s eyes, Damen saw pity etched across his face. “Damen, you mustn’t act rashly-!” Nikandros began, but Damen was already on his feet, beginning to stride towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Nikandros asked, his voice desperate.

“To Arles,” Damen said. He could feel Nikandros falter and begin to move quickly in his footsteps. “The Regent is lying. He has Laurent. He’s using him as bait. This is all a ploy-!”

“If it’s a ploy then it is meant to draw you out!” Nikandros had caught up with him. He extended an arm to block the doorway. 

Damen stilled. “Get out of my way.”

“The Regent has made his intentions clear. He wants you to travel to Arles. He wants you there. If that is his plan, then he has something in store. He does not intend that you will walk out of the city alive.”

“So I’m to sit here and do nothing? If the Regent is on the throne, then something has happened to Laurent!”

“And if he’s  _ dead _ , Damen?” The words were like a javelin to the heart, stealing Damen’s breath. “If he’s dead...if the Regent has killed him...he is going to do everything in his power...is already doing everything in his power...to blame his death on you. The Regent wants you to go to Arles. He wants you to stand trial. And then he wants to see you dead. And if he has already killed Laurent...your death will only solidify his complete victory over this land.”

_ If Laurent is dead… _

Damen felt his heart breaking. He couldn’t consider that possibility. “I can’t live without him, Nik. I don’t want to.”

“Damen...you are the King. You must live. For your people. You  _ must.” _

A gentle hand was placed on Damen’s shoulder. Nikandros’s usually steadfast and disdainful expression was replaced with one of pity. Damen couldn’t look at him. Laurent was not dead. 

Trumpets in the distance. Trumpets announcing yet another visitor at the palace steps. Damen locked eyes with Nikandros and together they turned and began to race towards the welcoming hall. Damen’s heart was in his throat, pounding and strangling him. 

_ Let it be him. Let it be Laurent.  _

It was Jord. Jord alone on a simple brown mare with a dark hood pulled over his head. He looked as if he had fought and fought hard. And then barely escaped with his life. 

A thick red gash was healing over his left cheek and he was wearing no armor, as if he had not had enough time to put it on before departing. And from the heavy rise and fall of his chest, it was obvious he was exhausted. He wavered on his horse, his body barely keeping itself upright.

When he saw Damen, Jord attempted to dismount his horse, and stumbled to his knees on the stone. Damen ran to him, slinging an arm under his shoulder to support him. He shot Nikandros a worried look. “Find a physician!”

Nikandros nodded, disappearing through the palace entrance as Damen struggled to get Jord to his feet. 

“Jord...Jord?” Damen was frantic. Jord’s eyes were glassy and a sheen of sweat had broken out over his forehead. He was in and out of consciousness, holding tight to Damen’s arm as though it was his only tether to sentience. 

“Damen…” he rasped, his eyes struggling to focus on Damen’s face. 

“I’m here, Jord. Can you tell me what happened?”

“It’s Laurent...the Regent...he’s killed him, Damen. His uncle has killed him.”

Damen shook his head. “No...there has to be some mistake. Laurent is alive. I know it.”

A single tear fell form Jord’s eyes, catching on the scabbing wound to his cheek. “Damen...I saw. I saw his body. I’ve never...seen anything like it. His hair. It was his hair, Damen. And the cuff. The Regent has the cuff.”

Jord’s hand trailed lightly over the cuff on Damen’s wrist. “No…” Damen said again. 

“I’m so sorry, Damen. I should have...I didn’t...I’m so sorry…” Jord faded, his eyes closing, his body collapsing into Damen’s arms. His breathing was slowing. 

Without thinking, Damen lifted Jord into his arms, carrying his unconscious form into the palace. He would not lose Jord. He couldn’t. Not while he still had hope left. 

It was some long hours before Jord finally regained consciousness. Under the kind and diligent hands of the Akielon physicians, Jord’s wounds were tended to, cleaned and bandaged. His body was badly bruised. Several bones in his left hand were broken and there had been sufficient damage done to his ribs. But slowly, he seemed to come back to himself. 

Damen had not left his side since delivering him to his sickbed. Nikandros filtered in and out, as if keeping a watchful eye over his King. But Damen refused to leave. Jord was his friend. And apart from that, with Jord remained the last glimmerings of hope that perhaps Laurent was still alive. 

Perhaps something had been misconstrued. Perhaps Jord had seen something, anything, that would prove the Regent a liar. 

Damen’s heart yearned to hope. When Jord’s eyes finally blinked open, and his face turned to Damen’s, Damen had to restrain himself from lodging desperate questions. 

“Damen…” Jord’s voice was a deep scratch from within his throat. He looked at Damen with a sadness, the same pity that Nik had lodged at him after reading the Regent’s message. 

“Jord...tell me what happened.”

Jord swallowed hard. “It all happened so fast. The day after his coronation, Laurent came to me. Told me...he was going somewhere…”

“Where?” Damen snapped.

“He wouldn’t tell me where. Only that I needed to keep his absence from his council. He said there was something he needed to do.”

“Did he go alone? Was there someone accompanying him?”

Jord stalled a moment. His eyes flashed to Damen’s face, a darkness shrouding his features. “He didn’t say. I assumed he was going with you…”

Damen’s blinked, his breathing unsteady. “Me?”

Jord continued. “You were there...at the coronation. He was gone. And so were you...I assumed…” He hesitated. “But then...days went by. And he was still gone. And I didn’t have any answers. And people were asking questions. His councilors were...furious…”

Damen remained completely still, listening. His heart felt on the brink of breaking. But still, he held on hope. 

“And then...the Regent was at our gates. With the biggest troop of soldiers I’d ever seen. They had...they had Laurent’s body with them. The people screamed. I’ve never heard such screaming. The Regent’s men stormed into the castle...they rounded up all those loyal to Laurent, made them submit to the Regent’s rule, forced them to view Laurent’s body. And then...those of us who refused to submit...were imprisoned. I got away. I was the only one. The Regent has them...all of them. Lazar. Berenger. Vannes. Herode. He’s going to execute them…”

Damen was shaking his head in disbelief. “But Laurent…,” he whispered. “You saw him? You’re sure it was him?”

Jord’s face was a mask of pity. “It was him, Damen. How else would the Regent...how else would he get control?”

“He might have been taken captive...Perhaps he’s been taken alive?”

“Why would the Regent keep him alive, Damen? Think about it...Laurent being alive would only pose a challenge for the Regent’s rule in the future. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t leave that stone unturned…”

Damen’s mind was twisting and turning, trying to see any other possibility. But none came. There was nothing left to do but to accept it. Accept the truth of it. 

“Damen, I’m so, so sorry…” Jord’s voice was soft, broken. But Damen couldn’t look at him. 

“I...I need some time,” Damen stood, his legs trembling beneath him. “I need some time to process this…” 

He made his way to the door of the infirmary, pausing only once to tell Jord that he would be tended to, that he would have unyielding sanctuary within Akielos. “No further harm will come to you while you’re here Jord. Please stay as long as you need.”

And then he stumbled to his chambers, his heart threatening to crumble within his chest. 

Laurent. His beautiful, kind, generous, wickedly intelligent Laurent. 

The thought that his light could have been extinguished from the world made Damen feel enveloped in utter darkness. It was wrong. It was so wrong. Damen felt sick and broken. He was a shell, no longer alive. 

He wanted to ride to Arles. To present himself to the Regent. To give his own life alongside Laurent’s. Wherever Laurent was...that was where Damen wanted...needed to be. As he entered his chambers, his world was swimming in tears. 

He blindly found his way to the cabinet in which his finest wines were held. When he opened the cabinet, he saw that Laurent had also stashed away a bottle of Griva, one that had been given to him as a gift from Makedon. Damen unstopped the bottle and gulped straight from the bottle, downing the bitter liquid as if it was water. 

Once the bottle was nearly depleted, Damen wrenched a fist back and toppled the cabinet and all its contents to the floor. The resounding crash and smash of glass and wood did nothing but solidify his pain, rendering in his reality. 

Laurent was gone...nothing mattered. 

He didn’t make it to the bed before he collapsed, winding his arms around himself and sobbing, moaning like a wounded animal, until sleep finally claimed him. 

That night, he dreamed he was on the battlefield at Marlas. He swung his sword and men fell. And then, he saw a golden head, radiant in the sunshine. 

_ Laurent?  _

He raced toward that shining blond hair, desperate to see him. Desperate to touch him. To hold him. 

But as he came upon the warrior, standing tall in his glory, wrapped in shining silver armor, Damen realized. It was not Laurent. It was Auguste. 

_ Marlas.  _ He should have known. 

Auguste turned to look at Damen, his blue eyes wide. His face looked so much like Laurent’s, but with a wider jaw, a broader nose. Overall, his features were more masculine, bolder, while Laurent’s were sharp and chiseled. But the resemblance was still striking. Damen’s heart ached. 

He expected Auguste to charge at him, to raise his sword as he had on the battlefield all those years ago. But instead, when their eyes locked, the fighting around them stopped as if frozen in time. 

“Damianos,” Auguste said. It was the first time, the only time, that Damen had ever heard his voice. 

Damen stilled. 

“What is this?” he asked.

“You tell me,” Auguste said.

_ This is a dream. It’s not a memory. It’s a  _ dream.

“I’m dreaming.”

Auguste nodded. 

“Why this? Why now? Why here?”

“Marlas. This is to be your new home, is it not?” Auguste asked and Damen’s heart sank.

“It  _ was _ .”

“ _ Was _ ?”

Damen’s eyes met Auguste’s, studying him in the bright light of day. “I failed him...I…” his voice faltered as tears again formed in his eye. 

“Damianos...you, of all people, have never failed my brother.”

“I don’t deserve this. To be here, talking to you. I don’t deserve to hear your voice...after everything…” Tears were falling now and Damen cursed them, cursed his own weakness. But this was a dream, afterall. Where was the harm in showing weakness in a dream?

“After everything...you have made my brother happier than he has ever been. You brought him back to life.”

“And then I condemned him to death.”

“No.” The one simple word caught Damen’s breath. He again looked up at Auguste to see a gentle look on his masculine face. 

“You know my brother better than any man alive. Do you truly think him so easy to kill?”

Damen paused, his heart pounding. “What are you saying?”

“Laurent is a fighter. He is strong. He needs you to remain strong as well. Do you understand?”

“Laurent is alive?”

Auguste nodded. “He will need you Damen. As you will need him. To fight my uncle, you must remain strong.”

“How?” Damen choked. “How will I find him? You have to help me find him.”

“Wake up, Damen. You have to wake up.”

Damen was frantic, desperate from this new revelation. This newfound hope. “What? No! Tell me! Help me! I have to find him. I have to get to him!”

Auguste unsheathed the sword at his side, eyeing the blade. A small smile pulled at his lips. “Wake up, Damen!” 

He plunged the sword into Damen’s shoulder, in the exact spot where his blade had made a scar so many years before. 

Damen screamed. 

“Damen, wake up!”

His eyes snapped open. Nikandros was shaking him awake. 

“He’s alive,” Damen breathed. 

“Exalted,” Nikandros said. “There’s something you need to see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO much! I was worried about the last chapter and the love and support I received, encouraging to write this story the way I want to write it has meant SO much to me. I can't even describe it.   
Like, can we be friends in real life? I need this kind of positivity haha
> 
> Anyway, this chapter was a lot more political, Damen being King - a lot of setting up for the future. Hope it wasn't too boring compared to last chapter!
> 
> I love you all! Your comments fuel my writing fire and keep this candle burning. 
> 
> Also, if you think of any really good, really smutty, angsty and heart-breaking CP fics, please sent them my way. I'm literally dying slowly down the Captive Prince hole and I need something to help me crawl out. (Writing is helping lol) I'm open to any pairings! :)
> 
> Much love!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings AGAIN. Non-con. Perhaps a bit more messy than Chapter 5. Don't like it, please don't read.   
Love you anyways :)

Laurent was not sure how long it had been. Days...weeks...months? The moments all seemed to bleed into one another, each old pain dulling into the new. 

He had been in a state of drugged stupor since the first night, his head continually swimming with Challis and some pleasure drug or another. His body ached constantly with an unwanted and urgent need. Everything hurt, a muted throb that reminded him, albeit barely, that he was alive. Though being alive seemed a torture too much to endure.

Every night, Torgeir would visit him. Every night, Torgeir would take him, with little preparation, in varying, humiliating ways. Always, Laurent’s hands were bound. But it had not been since that first night that his eyes had been blindfolded. 

It seemed that Torgeir liked to look into Laurent’s eyes as he fucked him. 

Laurent did what he could with what few resources he had at his disposal, not to give Torgeir what he wanted. If Torgeir wanted to hear him, Laurent would remain silent. If Torgeir wanted to see his eyes, Laurent would pinch them shut. If Torgeir grasped at his cock, thrusting hard, Laurent would do his best to shut off his brain, to control his impulses, to not allow himself release. 

It did not always work. And for that, Laurent hated himself. It felt like a betrayal to Damen. Something he should be able to control...would Damen hate him if he knew?

Every time it happened, Torgeir would gloat with satisfaction. Laurent had become his favorite plaything. Stubborn as he was, Laurent was a challenge for Torgeir, who it seemed, was a monster of a comparable nature to the Regent. He took pleasure in seeing Laurent humiliated, in breaking his spirit. In putting bruises and welts on his pretty white skin, in marking him, claiming him. 

Most often, Torgeir liked to use his teeth. Laurent’s pale body was littered with bite marks, bruises in the shape of Torgeir’s incisors, that the King would often caress as if seeing them brought him some sick satisfaction. The marks adorned the soft skin of Laurent’s neck like the marks of a lover. They covered his stomach, his thighs, his chest. Only Laurent’s face was kept safe from the bruises. Torgeir liked keeping his face immaculate, pristine.  _ Pretty _ . 

Laurent’s only news from the world outside these four walls came to him from the King. Always veiled by sarcasm and painted in a darkened tone, the words allowed Laurent to glean some small information in between Torgeir’s impatient thrusts. 

The Regent had reclaimed the throne of Vere. The people, devastated at the loss of their young King, had accepted the Regent’s rule, flocking to him, begging for revenge. Vere had summoned Damianos of Akielos to trial, to ascertain his guilt in Laurent’s murder. Laurent’s council and his loyal King’s Guard had been thrown into cells for treason due to their inability to protect their King. And slavery had been reinstated in Vere. 

Those unable to pay taxes, those found guilty of conspiring against the crown. Prisoners of war, and even some Pets found incapable of pleasing their masters, would be sold into slavery. Laurent thought of Ancel. He thought of little Nicaise. His heart ached. 

“News of your death has been spread across the land, my sweet pet,” Torgeir whispered to him, late one night, lapping at his neck with a wine-soaked tongue. “Laurent of Vere is no more. And soon, your honorable barbarian will walk into the halls of Arles, begging to be put to the sword...just so he can be with you again.”

Laurent struggled futilely against Torgeir’s grip, his head spinning, his mind trying desperately to regain some sense. But all he could think of was Damen’s pain at hearing the news. Laurent felt that pain as if it were his own. He willed Damen not to believe it, not to hurt.  _ Not Damen. Not Damen.  _

“Imagine it, pet. Imagine how your barbarian will mourn you. How his eyes will fill with tears. Like a lover scorned, he may even take his own life. Weakness does run in that family…”

“Damen is strong,” Laurent bit back and Torgeir smirked, his nails pausing in their slow, bloody trek down his body. 

“Do you think so? I’m glad to hear it. Perhaps he will make it to Arles then. I do so look forward to seeing him executed.” He leaned in to bite hard at Laurent’s sensitive right nipple, making him grit his teeth to keep from crying out. 

“Didn’t you know, pet? I plan to be in attendance when the Regent puts Damianos to the sword. His execution will be a spectacle. And perhaps I’ll even take my pretty new slave with me to watch. Would you like that, Pet? To see your lover one more time? Perhaps he would see you in the crowd right before the sword descends. Can you imagine the look on his face…?”

In a rage, Laurent spat in the King’s face. 

He waited for the descent of a fist that never came. Torgeir instead, started to laugh. Moving a hand to his face, he wiped the spittle away, before brushing it over Laurent’s chest. 

“You cry out for punishment, my pet. If you want pain, all you have to do is ask.”

With forceful hands, Torgeir grasped Laurent’s hips and flipped his body to land on his stomach. Laurent’s arms, still bound above his head, were twisted uncomfortably now, rendering him further immobile. Torgeir’s hot hands slipped under Laurent’s stomach to force his ass up, an unwilling offering. 

Torgeir leaned in and Laurent could feel his tongue swipe over the skin of his lower back. “Such a pretty picture. I do so enjoy wrecking you.”

Without warning, Torgeir thrust inside and Laurent did not have time to stop himself from crying out. He jerked forward violently, clenching his teeth as Torgeir’s nails dug into the soft flesh of his hips, wrenching him harshly back and forth. 

The pain was excruciating. Torgeir loved to take his time, drawing out his own pleasure with Laurent’s body. But with little preparation, the friction burned. Laurent’s eyes welled with tears he would not allow to fall. 

“I will hear you,” Torgeir growled. 

Laurent remained silent, his eyes clenched shut. 

Torgeir’s hand was in his hair then, fisting the golden locks with a tight grip that caused pain to shoot through Laurent’s scalp. Laurent’s neck was now exposed to the King, like that of a submissive animal to its alpha. Torgeir’s teeth grazed his tender skin, nuzzling into it as his body continued to thrust. 

“Pretend I’m Damianos...Let me hear those pretty moans.”

“Fuck. You,” Laurent growled and Torgeir laughed, his grip growing ever tighter in Laurent’s hair. His lips were sucking a mark onto the pale skin of Laurent’s throat. From the pressure and speed of his pumping, Laurent knew he was nearing his peak. 

A knock on the door did not slow the King's thrusts. Persistently and perhaps unaware that he was courting danger, the knocker on the other side of the door rapped again. Harder this time. Torgeir’s grip tightened as he groaned and emptied his seed inside Laurent’s body before pushing him forcefully away. 

“Enter,” he said curtly, lacing himself back into his breeches. 

The door opened as Laurent rolled himself onto his back to relieve the strain on his wrists. The guard at the door paused, realizing at once what he had just interrupted. He refused to look at Laurent, embarrassment having been plastered over his features like a mask.

“What is it?” The King growled, dismounting the bed and moving closer to the intruder. 

“Your Highness. There is a nobleman here to see you. From Akielos.”

Laurent’s heart skipped a beat, though he forced his expression to remain neutral. As if guessing his thoughts, Torgeir turned towards him with a wicked smile pulling at his lips. 

“Akielos, you say?” He turned back to the guard, his face in profile for Laurent. The smile had not faded. “What does this nobleman want?”

“Sent from the King. Says he seeks an audience to negotiate trade.”

“Does he now? What marvelous timing. We’ve just finished here. Please tell the Akielon I’ll await him in the throne room.”

The guard nodded, his dark cheeks flushed. He turned to go, but Torgeir stopped him before he could depart.

“One more thing. Send a slave for my  _ pet _ . He needs a bath. He’s bled all over my sheets. We’ll need someone to change the linens as well.”

They forced Laurent back into the blindfold to travel to the baths. He could barely walk, but still they forced him to move, at least three armed guards at his back. 

When they bound his hands again above his head, he whimpered slightly, unsure of whether or not his legs would support his weight. He was already naked so there was no need to undress before buckets of cold water were thrown on his trembling body. 

Soft footsteps padded into the room. The guards stopped. Laurent could hear their hands move to the swords at their belts. 

“This slave begs your apologies,” said a gentle voice. A voice Laurent had heard before. “The King called for me. He thought his slave might benefit from  _ softer  _ hands.”

There was a pause, a shifting as the guards surely looked amongst themselves, unsure of what to do. But an order from the King was not to be ignored. 

“Get it over with,” Laurent heard the guards oblige, and then more footsteps moving toward him. He flinched as a hand came down on his cheek, ever so softly as if seeking permission to touch. 

“May I take his blindfold off?”

Silence.  _ This  _ request would not have come from the King, who liked to keep his slave blindfolded when not in his bedroom-prison.

The newcomer persisted. “He will perhaps be easier if he can see me and realize I am no threat to him. The process will be much smoother...”

“Fine. But be quick.”

Laurent felt nimble fingers loosening the knot that kept his blindfold tight against his eyes. As the fabric fell away, Laurent’s vision settled on the soft green hazel eyes of Erasmus. 

That kind, beautiful face gave nothing away, but as Laurent’s eyes travelled down and over Erasmus’s form, he could see bruising and healing wounds that looked greatly similar to his own. 

Laurent wanted to speak, but knew he could not. Though just seeing Erasmus here, alive, well, it was comfort enough. Erasmus’s eyes bore into Laurent’s seeming to attempt to provide some support, some reassurance. In silence, Erasmus reached into a nearby bucket filled with water and cupped a small amount, bringing it to Laurent’s chest. 

Laurent hissed as the water slid down his body, trickling into sores and open wounds. 

“I’m sorry,” Erasmus said quietly, so quietly that only Laurent could hear. He began lathering a clear, floral-scented liquid into a dampened cloth before touching it to lightly Laurent’s body. 

“This isn’t your fault,” Laurent whispered.

“It  _ is _ ,” Erasmus nodded. He was gently rubbing away some of the blood on Laurent’s skin. His hand stroked over bruises and scabbed wounds. At each of Laurent’s winces, Erasmus seemed to want to shrink away, to recoil. But he remained stoic, despite what Laurent knew to be in his nature, despite the empathy Laurent knew he was experiencing. 

“He would still be doing this to you…,” Laurent murmured.

“But then you saved me. Again.” Erasmus met his eyes with a meaningful look. 

“Slave! Shut your mouth. No more talking!”

Erasmus glanced up, his huge golden green eyes wide. “I’m so sorry. He was trembling. I thought to coax him...you’re right of course. This slave has no right to speak to the Kings’s pet.”

“Get on with it. He’s still  _ bleeding _ .”

Erasmus’s cheeks drained of color. He met Laurent’s eyes as if asking for permission. Laurent nodded, swallowing hard as Erasmus rounded his body and bent low to clean him. The sting was extreme but Erasmus’s touch was delicate. He took great care to wipe the blood from between Laurent’s thighs and to apply cooling a salve between his legs. 

When Erasmus was finished, Laurent had begun trembling all over. The touch, the sensation, after everything that had happened, was too much. Erasmus was again in front of him then, looking at him with grave, serious eyes. 

“We haven’t forgotten you,” he whispered in Akielon. 

Laurent flushed to hear the language spoken aloud. A flame of memory shot through him. “There is an Akielon emissary here, meeting with the King.” He replied in Akielon, and Erasmus’s eyes widened in understanding.

Laurent’s hair was ripped back unexpectedly as one of the guards stared down at them with a violently sour expression on his face. “What are you two saying?”

“He was thanking me for making him presentable for his King. These slaves live to serve. You are not wrong to admonish us. We are so below you.” Erasmus protested himself on the ground, and slowly the grip on Laurent’s scalp receded.

“Get up,” the guard growled, nudging Erasmus’s shoulder with his boot. “We’re done here. We need to get this little whore back to his chambers.”

Erasmus stood as the guards unlatched Laurent’s arms and brought them back down, tying them again in front of him. As they moved to escort Laurent from the baths, Erasmus started.

“Wait -!” 

The guards glared at him with harsh eyes. “What?”

Erasmus moved in to clasp Laurent’s hands in his own. As he did so, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Laurent’s cheek. “Blessings to your master,” he said in the smooth and flowing language of Patras.

Before Erasmus pulled away, Laurent could feel him slip something cold and thin in between their closed hands. 

And then Erasmus was withdrawing, a docile smile on his face. He bent at the waist to bow to the guards, watching with a placid expression as Laurent was taken away. 

Laurent was again bound naked to the bed. But this time, in his clenched fist, he could feel the cool steel of a razor blade. 

Though the guards remained in the room with him, Laurent did not hold their attention. The ties that bound him were thick but not indestructible. It would take determination and tact, but he could cut through the ropes. The elaborate pillow arrangement on the freshly made bed hid his bound hands from view. The pleasure drug was wearing off...he could do this. He  _ would  _ do this. 

He slowly slid the blade, thin and immaculately sharp, forward into contact with the ropes, maneuvering his wrists ever so slightly. Keeping his face a blank mask, and all other parts of his body completely still, he began to saw through his bindings. 

It was a slow moving process. His wrists, bent at an odd and unnatural angle, began to ache at the strain. In order to not attract attention, he had to move delicately, deftly. Extremely carefully. 

All he needed was one strand. Just one. And the knot would unravel. He would be free. 

The door swung open abruptly. The King, obviously in a foul temper, slammed the door behind him, his eyes burning with rage. 

“Get. Out,” he commanded his guards, who dismissed themselves immediately without any second glances. His eyes, then, were only for Laurent. 

“My brother’s slave came to visit you, did he?” 

Laurent froze, the blade clenched tightly in his fist. 

“What a pretty picture that made, I’m sure. The two of you in each other’s arms, looking into each other’s eyes.” Torgeir paused, staring at Laurent coldly. “Do you have an explanation, pet? On why my brother’s plaything came to you in the baths?”

“To  _ clean  _ me, I would assume. As you asked,” Laurent shot. 

Torgeir’s hand lashed out, grasping Laurent’s jaw in his tight fist. “Insolent little whore. I know he spoke to you. What did he say?”

“”He asked how badly it hurts...I told him I’ve had bigger cocks...I barely even felt  _ yours _ .”

Torgeir’s grip released as he backhanded Laurent across the face. 

“You try my patience,” Torgeir growled. “Do you not fear pain?” He glanced down at the darkened pallet of colors that was Laurent’s torso, running his hands over the sensitive skin. “No...perhaps you even like it…”

The King’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Tell me...did it hurt when your uncle used to fuck you all those years ago? Did you beg him to be gentle? I can’t imagine how beautiful a sight that would have been...you as a prepubescent little thing...pure and untouched. You were probably so small...he likely tore you open on his cock…”

“Is that what you like to picture? Little boys? I didn’t realize you shared my uncle’s vile proclivities.”

“I picture what I want to picture and I fuck what I want to fuck. And right now, I find I want to fuck you. While you fuck my brother’s slave.”

Laurent ‘s heart skipped a beat. “Leave him out of this.” Torgeir grinned.

“Wouldn’t you like that? Getting to stick your cock in something soft and pretty?”

He ran his thumb over Laurent’s bottom lip. “Or perhaps you prefer to tell me what you two were talking about instead?”

A wave of cold panic flooded Laurent’s body. The urge to protect Erasmus consumed him like a heavy fog. He would give Torgeir the truth. Or some small part of it to spare Erasmus a similar torment to his own.

“He...said he was sorry…”

Torgeir raised an eyebrow. “Sorry?”

“He said it’s his fault that Torveld brought me here.”

Torgeir smirked, leaning in close to run his nose over Laurent’s collar bone, to breathe in his scent. “He’s not incorrect in that assessment. My brother always has been weak for pretty white skin and pretty blond hair. Much like that Akielon King of yours...men like my brother...like Damianos...they are weak. They’re too easy to give their hearts. Too easy to predict. Too easy to control. Unlike you and I.” He was running his hand down Laurent’s body, pinching Laurent’s nipples, gripping them tightly between the nail of his thumb and pad of his forefinger. Laurent squirmed. 

“That fight you have in you...it’s gorgeous. I so enjoy breaking you down, tearing you apart piece by piece. It’s a challenge. But one I’m well suited for. And every time I succeed, it feels like a victory.” He leaned in. And took Laurent’s left nipple in his mouth, licking and sucking at the sensitively raised bud. With the King’s face buried in his chest, Laurent began again to tediously saw into his bindings with the razor.

Torgeir was moving lower, his tongue laying a trail of saliva down Laurent’s body. His hand reached between Laurent’s legs to fondle his soft cock. 

He paused, his eyes narrowing. “You have not had your  _ medicine _ today.”

Horror filled Laurent like the blood pounding in his veins.  _ Not now. _ Not when he was so close.  _ “Please,  _ no,” he choked out, unable to stop himself. “I don’t need it -!”

“Ahh and now you beg. I think I like this side of you. But I can’t have my toy getting soft. I want you to feel  _ everything.  _ I want you to crave it. I want you panting and dripping with a need so bad it aches.”

The King stood, striding towards the stand where Laurent knew he kept his stash of pleasure drugs. 

_ Just a moment more.  _ All he needed was a moment more. The King was pouring a glass of clear liquid, his back turned to Laurent. Laurent’s heart was pounding, pounding, pounding. The rope was getting thinner, coming apart in his hands. 

Torgeir looked up abruptly. His eyes fell on the loose bindings, the tiny blade in Laurent’s fingers.

He lunged. 

Laurent’s hands, now free, slashed across the King's face. Blood blossomed like a blooming flower over Torgeir’s cheek as he stumbled back. Torgeir clutched at his freshly bleeding wound, his eyes wide, stunned, as Laurent leapt from the bed and threw all his weight forward. 

Torgeir was ready for him. He grasped both of Laurent’s wrists in his fists. They struggled, their strength equally matched. Torgeir forced Laurent down hard against the bed on his back. 

“Crafty little slut. You’ll pay for that. But I did tell you, didn’t I? I like the challenge.”

“You won’t like how this ends,” Laurent snarled.

Torgeir laughed, baring his teeth. “Oh, but I think I will.” He kicked Laurent’s legs apart, forcing both of his wrists to the bed.

Laurent wrenched a knee up and slammed it hard into the King’s groin. Torgeir staggered back with a curse, knocking over the end table and all the bottles of pleasure drugs. They crashed to the floor, spilling their contents over the hardwood.

Torgeir hissed, but Laurent was on him again, slashing out with the tiny blade. Torgeir was strong but, even with the small amounts of the drugs still coursing through his veins, Laurent was fast, able to pick out the King’s weak points and use them against him. He thrust forward, slicing through the King’s long robes. Blood began to pool from open slashes on Torgeir’s extended arms. 

Torgeir caught Laurent’s arm, pulling him in and squeezing his fist until the blade dropped from his hand. In frustration, Laurent thrust back with his elbow, forcing it hard into Torgeir’s nose. A sickening crunch was followed by more blood and a sharp intake of breath from the King. His nails were clawing into Laurent’s sides, preventing him from getting away. With all of his massive force, he pushed Laurent forward, trapping him against his writing desk, pinning his hands behind his back.

“I’m going to fuck you within an inch of your life, you filthy whore. I’m going to fuck you until you bleed. And then, when I’m done, I’m going to rip your tongue out and feed it to the dogs while my men fuck you some more.”

Laurent could feel Torgeir’s hardened cock against his skin. He was rutting against Laurent’s exposed ass, both hands holding him firmly in place, as though the struggle, the pain, had aroused in him some sickening desire to claim, to destroy. 

His mouth was digging into Laurent’s neck. In a move of desperation, Laurent rolled his body, using all his force to slam Torgeir hard into the desk. He leapt for the blade that lay discarded on the floor. He turned back to swipe at the King. 

The tip of a dagger plunged hard into Laurent’s stomach. Laurent gasped, spitting up a bit of blood as Torgeir twisted the dagger in his soft flesh. 

“Pretty little fool. How did you think this was going to end?”

In a movement so fast, and with every last ounce of his stamina, Laurent slashed the tiny blade across the skin of the King’s throat. 

They staggered back from each other, bleeding and gasping for breath. The dagger was still imbedded in Laurent’s stomach. He watched as blood poured from Torgeir’s neck, creating the image of a sickening red smile, spreading from ear to ear. Torgeir clutched at his throat, choking out streams of red. His eyes were wild. He was dying. 

He fell to his knees. More choking. He emitted the strangled sounds of a dying animal before finally falling to his face on the floor. 

Laurent staggered backwards, his hands clutching at the dagger in his stomach. He dared not pull the weapon from his flesh. The spot, depending on its placement inside him, could potentially be fatal, should it have damaged some of his vital organs. 

He tasted blood as he stumbled back against the wall, his eyes still on Torgeir’s immobile form. His vision was fading now, his head going cloudy. He felt his body slide to the floor. 

_ Damen. Damen. I love you.  _

He thought of his beautiful barbarian. He thought of those huge brown eyes. He imagined that playful smile, those soft brown curls. 

The pain was fading now. Perhaps this was what dying felt like? Perhaps this was what Auguste had felt at the end? It wasn’t so bad. Not really. The worst part was realizing he might never see Damen again.  _ That  _ hurt more than his wounds. 

Slowly, he faded. Warmth enveloped him, soothing him into darkness. He felt a peace he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since before Auguste. But this peace, this calm, it was so familiar. It was almost as if he could feel his big brother’s presence. Warm arms holding him, calming him, reassuring him without words. 

_ Hold on, Laurent. Please, hold on.  _

Brief glimpses of color, of light, of faces he knew. Was he dead? He wasn’t sure. With the flashes of light came waves of agony. His body was on fire. It hurt to breathe, to exist.

A dark, bearded face he did not recognize hovered over him. 

“He’s alive.”

“We have to get him out of here.”

A soft, sweet voice. “I’ll go with him.”

“The King?” A pause.

“The King is dead.”

Laurent faded again as merciful hands wove around him, supporting him, holding him tight and steady.

He felt himself jostled as he wove in and out of consciousness. Everything hurt. It was safer to give in, to let sleep claim him. He heard himself groan. The wound to his side ached as if it was on fire. His skin was hot. It was difficult to breathe.

Soft hands stroked his hair. 

“Hold on, Your Highness. Please hold on.”

_ Your Highness.  _ How long had it been since he’d been called that? Days? Weeks?

_ My pet. My slave.  _ That was all he could remember ever being. 

“Will he make it?

That voice again. “He will. He’s strong.” 

A hand was in his hair, stroking him back to sleep. 

He dreamed of Damen, then. His beautiful, kind, surprising Akielon. Damen was looking down at him, stroking his face, holding him to his expansive chest. 

Wetness fell to Laurent’s cheeks. Tears? Damen was...crying?

He was saying Laurent’s name over and over and over, like a mantra, like a prayer. 

“Laurent, please. Please wake up. I love you. I love you. I love you. I’m so sorry.” 

There were other faces around them. It was all a blur. But Damen’s hands felt so good, so warm and soothing. So gentle and delicate and tender. The feeling of being in his arms, even if this was a dream, was something Laurent would remember forever. 

“Damen,” he murmured, attempting to move in closer to that warmth. 

He heard Damen gasp and choke out a sound that was half laugh, half sob. “Hello lover,” he whispered, bringing his lips to Laurents cheek, to his forehead, to his nose. 

_ Hello lover.  _ If this was a dream, it was a good dream.

Laurent allowed himself to drift back into the swirling and spiralling blackness of unconsciousness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did this go how you expected it to go?  
Are you happy with the way it turned out?   
Too anti-climactic? 
> 
> I was going through several possible scenarios in my head but this is what happened. I don't hate that it was mostly Laurent defeating Torgeir on his own. That was always how I had it planned in my mind. 
> 
> Are you bummed to see Torgeir go? Or is this death what he deserved?
> 
> AND NOW WHAT?
> 
> I love you and all your comments and support!


	8. Chapter 8

“Exalted, there’s something you need to see.”

Damen rose from the tangled sheets with a pounding heart. Auguste’s blade still burned into his shoulder as if it had been real, material. Of this world.

He shook himself, meeting Nikandros’s eyes. There was something there. Something aberrant. Something that worried.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Heston has returned from Patras. And it seems he’s found your lost King.”

Damen had never run so fast in his entire life. He raced to the stone steps of the palace, traipsing down them two or three at a time.

There was a carriage, the same one in which Heston had departed for Patras. Damen’s heart was pounding furiously in his chest. Could it be possible? He dared himself to hope as Heston stepped out into the sunlight with a solemn, discerning look on his face. 

“Exalted,” he breathed. “It’s the King…”

“Laurent,” Damen choked, pushing forward. Heston allowed him space as he peered into the spacious coach.

There, laying with his hair splayed out like a crown, was Laurent. He was breathing, albeit, unevenly, with his head resting on the lap of a slave that Damen well recognized. Erasmus. 

“Hello Exalted.” Erasmus smiled demurely, dipping his head so his soft brown curls bounced delicately. 

Damen had no ability to share a fond reunion, however. Not with Laurent lying unconscious before him. Damen moved in closer before pausing in his tracks with his breath caught hard in his throat. 

Painted on every inch of Laurent’s visible skin, were bruises and welts, signs of rough handling and abuse. Laurent has been dressed hastily, in a loose white shirt and dark pants, but the marks were still visible. Damen cringed with anger. 

“What happened?” He growled, his voice thick with emotion. 

A hand on his shoulder momentarily calmed Damen, as Heston came to stand beside him. “Exalted, we need to get him inside. To a physician. He’s badly wounded.”

Damen swallowed hard, nodding. He didn’t wait for assistance. Moving forward, he tenderly lofted Laurent’s unconscious form into his arms, cradling Laurent’s body against his chest. The soft rising and falling of his breast centered Damen. He was alive. He was here. Damn the rest. It could wait. 

He put aside his anger as he carried Laurent up the palace steps, with Heston, Erasmus and Nikandros on his heels.

They found the palace physician, an old man named Bachan, cloistered in his private quarters near the infirmary. When the old physician saw Damen, with Laurent in his arms, his mouth nearly fell open in shock. 

They were silent as Bachan began his work. He undressed Laurent carefully, minding each new wound that was revealed. And as Damen watched, horror fell over him like a nauseating fog from which he could not escape. 

Laurent’s body was a palette of dark purples and greens, its porcelain canvas painted in sickening hues that depicted the undeniable tortures he had faced. As Laurent’s chest was bared, Damen bit back a sob of rage. Bite marks covered his delicate skin, the ghost of a mouth, of teeth, that had torn into his chest and clamped down. Damen wanted to break something. 

The wound to his side had festered, an oozing, hideously ugly thing that would undoubtedly scar...if it didn’t kill him first. Bachan, typically stoic in his duties, let out a slight gasp as the wound was revealed. 

“The knife was tainted with something,” he said, his voice tense. “This is no normal wound.”

Damen swallowed hard, fighting back a wave of emotion. “Can you help him?”

The physician met his eyes. “I will do my best, Exalted. I can make no promises.”

Damen nodded. “Bring him back to me.”

He turned to go, meeting the carefully narrowed eyes of Nikandros, who stood in the doorway watching him. Damen felt the rush of his own emotion threatening to overwhelm him. He forced himself to turn his eyes away.

He pushed past Nikandros, stumbling out of the infirmary, before clasping his face in his hands and letting out a gasp of anguish. He slid down the stone wall adjacent, settling with his head between his knees, his face in his hands. 

“Exalted?” Heston had followed, Erasmus in tow. Nikandros too, stood a little ways away, knowing well to keep Damen close in his weakest moments. All three men looked down at him with pity in their eyes, but also with looks of resolve. Whatever had happened, Damen knew he owed Laurent’s life to Heston, to Erasmus. They had taken great risks to ferry Laurent to Akielos, and they held answers he needed to right this great wrong. 

Damen reigned back his emotions once more, before rising again to meet three sets of serious and somber eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Damen said. “Seeing him like that…”

“He is strong,” Erasmus said and then flushed a deep red. “Apologies, Exalted. This slave has spoken out of turn.”

Damen shook his head. “No, my friend. You are welcome to speak whenever you feel the urge, like any other member of my council.”

Erasmus’s cheeks were pinked but he nodded nonetheless. “Thank you, Exalted. What I wanted to say…King Laurent is strong. He held on through the entire trek to Akielos. Four days nonstop. He will survive this.”

Emotion overwhelmed Damen once again, thinking of the journey from Patras to Akielos, thinking of Laurent sweating and trembling and bleeding and fading. His eyes narrowed, turning to Heston.

“What happened? Why was Laurent in Patras?”

Heston looked uneasy, meeting Erasmus’s warm green eyes. “From what I was told, Exalted, King Laurent travelled to Patras to seek an audience with the King. But the King, it seems had other plans.”

“Torgeir?” Damen balked.

“King Torgeir is dead. He thought to take King Laurent as a slave. And suffered the consequences for that misstep.”

“Laurent killed him?”

Heston nodded. “But not before the damage was done. The King is not well known for his kindness to his slaves.”

Erasmus flushed at that, not meeting Damen’s eyes. 

“His wounds…” Damen’s voice was tense. “They were the King’s doing?”

Heston nodded. “It seems Torgeir was harboring the Regent of Vere. Their alliance solidified the Regent’s retaking of the throne of Vere…and the country’s reinstatement of slavery.”

“Does Laurent’s uncle know he lives?”

Heston shook his head. “Not yet. But word of King Torgeir’s death will spread. Patras is in turmoil. Torveld will take the seat of King as Regent until Torgeir’s eldest son,Tormin, comes of age. But there are some who will question the circumstances of the Kong’s death, some who will rebel against Torveld’s rule.”

“Torveld?” Damen asked. “He was involved in this?”

From the reaction on Heston’s face, and from the flush of Erasmus’s cheeks, Damen knew he had asked a trying question. 

“From my understanding,” Heston began, his voice wavering and uncertain, “Prince Torveld had no small part to play in Laurent’s capture.”

“What do you mean?” Damen growled.

Erasmus was shifting on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. Heston’s eyes flashes to Erasmus, who’s eyes still had not risen from the floor.

“Torveld himself told me that his brother had substantial leverage over him, that he demanded Torveld travel to Vere and convince King Laurent to return with him to Patras. On the journey, they were ambushed and Laurent was taken prisoner.”

“That vile traitorous pig,” Damen burned with rage. “What sort of  _ leverage  _ could have possibly convinced him to betray -?”

“It was me,” Erasmus said softly, finally meeting Damen’s eyes. “I was the leverage.”

Damen paused, seeing tears in Erasmus’s sweet green eyes. “It was my fault. The King...took me from my Master. He was cruel to me. He hurt me and ...and I was so weak. I pleaded for my Torveld to help me. Prince Torveld betrayed King Laurent because I was not strong enough to endure...it’s all my fault.”

Wet trails had begun to fall down Erasmus’s cheeks. He fell to his knees in front of Damen, prostrating himself on the floor. “This slave begs your forgiveness, Exalted.”

Damen gingerly knelt beside Erasmus, placing a hand on his trembling shoulder. “There is nothing to forgive. You brought Laurent back here to me. You are not at fault for what happened to you. Not for that happened to Laurent. If Torgeir was not already dead, I would ride to Patras and kill him myself.”

Erasmus did not raise his head. Tears were pooling on the floor.

“Erasmus, please look at me.”

Wet green eyes looked up at Damen with a deep sadness reflected back. Damen reached out and gently dried the tears on Erasmus’s cheeks. 

“You have always been so kind to me. You and King Laurent...have always treated me with dignity and compassion not befitting my station,” Erasmus’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Kindness and dignity and compassion are owed to you as a human being. And so long as you remain in Akielos, you will be treated always with nothing less.”

Erasmus stuttered, retreating slightly from Damen’s outstretched hands. “My master is in Patras.”

“In Akielos, there are no slaves and no masters. Not anymore. So long as you stay here in Akielos, you are a free man.”

Damen rose, offering a hand to help Erasmus to his feet. Delicately, Erasmus took it, coming to stand beside Damen again. The look on his handsome, boyish face spoke of a young man overwhelmed, stunned, confused.

“I don’t expect you to make up your mind today. But the offer remains. Erasmus, Akielos was once your home. You are always welcome here.”

Erasmus dipped his head, again turning his eyes to the floor. “Exalted, if I may ask only one thing…?”

“Of course.”

“My master, Prince Torveld...please do not think him a villain for his actions. Everything he did was done out of love for me, out of a desire to protect me. It was wrong what he did, betraying King Laurent’s trust...and it was something he deeply regretted. It plagued his heart constantly. He longed to right the wrong he had committed.. It was  _ he _ who ordered me go to King Laurent in the slave baths and to arm him against King Torgeir. It was he who ordered the carriage to transport us to Akielos, to bring King Laurent back to you. My master is repentant. He is deeply regretful and desperate to prove himself and his allegiance. He promises that now, with his brother dead, Patras will hold no ill will toward Akielos, nor toward Vere and it’s rightful King. And, when the time is right, Patras will stand beside King Laurent to help him reclaim his throne.”

Damen considered the words, the sweet expression on Erasmus’s face. He nodded, still unwilling to so easily dismiss Torveld’s wrongdoing. “Thank you, Erasmus. I will give great consideration to your words. Right now, though, I need to focus on Laurent. On what I can do to help him get his kingdom back...on keeping him alive.”

“Of course,” Erasmus bowed his head in admission. 

Damen looked up, meeting the knowing eyes of Nikandros. “Nik, would you see that Erasmus finds a suitable chamber in our guest quarters?” When Nik nodded, Damen turned to look at Heston and Erasmus both in turn. “I’m sure you’re both weary and famished from the travel. I’ll have the servants fetch a meal. Let us regroup this evening. I’ll call upon you.”

Heston’s posture did indeed show signs of his weariness, but there was something else there as well. His shoulders were pulled tight and his brow was furrowed. Something was bothering this man whose service and devotion had survived two generations of Akielon leadership. Damen almost thought to question him on it, but before he could, Heston straightened, nodding and expressing his gratitude, despite whatever reservations might be muddling his mind. He turned to excuse himself with only one last cursory look back at his King. 

Nikandros led Erasmus away, down the wide corridor that led to the guest’s quarters, and once again, Damen was left alone to his treacherous thoughts. Seeing Laurent alive should have caused him to rejoice. But instead, it had pulled away the curtain of ignorance, solidifying the very real possibility that Damen could lose him forever. 

He was alive. But for how much longer? Is this what Auguste had meant when he had told Damen that he needed to be strong? That as Laurent took his last breaths, Damen would need to remain stoic and poised enough to take revenge? 

It felt wrong, all so sickeningly wrong.

Laurent had always seemed to Damen some untouchable, unstoppable force. Unmoving, impenetrable as a fortress. But in the end, Laurent was only human, capable of being hurt, capable of dying. 

His mind flashed to what he knew had happened to Laurent as a child, what Damen’s actions had allowed to befall him. With no one left to cling to, Laurent had been forced into the arms of his uncle, who had gravely misused his own persuasion over a little boy’s mind. Laurent, so precious, so alone, had succumbed. There had been no one to protect him.

And Damen had not been there to protect him this time either. 

Damen could deny it all he wanted. He had seen the marks on Laurent’s body. He knew what Torgeir had done to Laurent, though the thought sickened him. 

But even in spite of it all, in spite of all the cruelties and tortures he had faced, Laurent, beautiful, powerful, ethereal Laurent, had fought back, as he always did. He had proven that he did not need anyone to protect him. He could and would protect himself. He could and would survive. 

He would survive. 

_ Laurent, please. Survive.  _

Damen rarely left Laurent’s bedside the following few days. He was sure the physicians attending the Veretian King were less than pleased to have Damen watching their every movements, but Damen felt more at peace being near Laurent, seeing the continual rising and falling of his chest. 

When he was forced to leave, Damen would train. He trained hard, throwing himself into sparring, wielding his blade as if it was the Regent himself on the field across from him. 

By the time he had finished exerting himself, his muscles were aching and his body was covered in a sheen of sweat that glistened in the shining Akielon sun. 

Often Nikandros would find him afterwards, and join him in silence, knowing the turmoil that existed in his heart. It was a calming presence. A presence that seemed to understand without judgement, a presence that demanded nothing. 

However, after one particularly strenuous session, Damen could feel a tension in Nikandros’s approaching form. His shoulders seemed taut, and there seemed to be words waiting to spill from his lips. He settled down beside Damen silently, but Damen could feel the thoughts swarming his Kyros’s mind.

“You’ve something to say, say it,” he pried gently and Nikandros sighed. 

“I’ve done my best to be patient with you, my friend. I know the precarious situation you find yourself in…and you know I  _ feel _ for you.”

Damen nodded. “You’re mincing words unnecessarily.”

Nikandros seemed to steel himself. “I worry for you, Damen. If Laurent does not make it through this…”

Damen stiffened. “He will. He  _ must.” _

“But if he doesn’t…I’m afraid to lose you to a path of revenge.”

“The Regent cannot be allowed to sit on the throne of Vere. No matter if Laurent lives...or dies…”

“Then what? We force Akielos into another war? With what end in mind? If we usurp then Regent, who will we place on the throne? Laurent has no heirs…nor do you for that matter…”

“We will worry about that when the time comes. We operate under the impression that Laurent will live to reclaim his throne.”

Nikandros placed an exasperated head in his hands, raking his nails through his scalp. “Damen...you were never this shortsighted. This...this is why I worry for you. You’re being careless.”

“Is  _ hope _ careless?” Damen asked, his heart heavy. “I love him, Nik.”

Nikandros’s expression softened. “I know that Damen. No one in the kingdom would dare doubt your devotion to him. But this is bigger than that.”

“I will not forge an alliance with a traitor and Kingslayer.”

“Then Vere becomes our enemy again?” Brown eyes burned with intensity, meeting Damen’s with a look of despondency.

“Vere without Laurent would have always been our enemy. Nothing would have changed if not for him.”

“You underestimate the part you had to play, Damen. You warmed the heart of the Ice Prince...just by being you. You forged the alliance.  _ You _ , Damen.  _ You  _ are our hope. You always have been. Don’t you see that? Akielos needs you. I need…” 

His words were arrested on his lips as a palace guard raced into view, chest heaving with exertion. 

“Exalted! It’s King Laurent!”

Laurent’s eyes were open, glazed over and staring into nothing, pupils blown out to almost completely overwhelm the blue. He was trembling all over, his body covered in a sheen of sweat.

Bachan was not alone with Laurent. A team of palace physicians were tending the writhing King of Vere, attempting to hold wet cloths to his body to slow the burning of his skin. But his shaking and thrashing made it nearly impossible.

Erasmus was also at Laurent’s bedside, holding onto his hand, stroking it gently, attempting to keep him steady. His lips were close to Laurent’s ear, whispering soothing words to calm him while his other hand stroked Laurent’s sweat-darkened hairline. The sight shouldn’t have had such an impact on Damen, but it plucked at Damen’s heart, creating in him a wave of confusing emotions, something Damen was not used to feeling. Something close to jealousy. Damen forced it back down. 

“This is it, Exalted,” Bachan said as Damen entered, his face a mask of strained exertion. “His body is detoxing. He’s going into shock. But if he can make it through this, he may yet make it out alive.” 

Damen’s hands ached to hold Laurent, to stop his trembling. His feet led him forward, only inches from Laurent’s bedside. He couldn’t help himself. Erasmus pulled away as Damen leaned in and enveloped Laurent’s trembling body in his arms, holding him through the tremors that wracked him.

Laurent’s eyes were searching but distant, roving around the room as if unseeing, lost in a haze of unconsciousness. 

“Laurent,” Damen whispered, holding him tightly to his chest. “Laurent, Laurent, Laurent. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please hold on my love. Please hold on. I love you. I need you. Laurent, please.”

As if hearing his own name brought him some new and heightened awareness, Laurent’s shivering stalled slightly and his eyes seemed to center on the room. For a moment, a brief quiet moment, blue irises found Damen, and though the trembling continued, Damen was sure Laurent  _ saw _ him.

“Damen,” Laurent breathed softly, and Damen felt tears come to his eyes. 

“Hello lover,” he choked back a sob, stroking Laurent’s golden, sweat-streaked hair. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Laurent’s forehead, to his cheeks, to his nose, thankful for this brief moment of recognition. 

Laurent closed his eyes then, falling back into unconsciousness. But Damen remained by his side, holding onto him, keeping him steady as his trembling resumed.

The shock did indeed subside. And Laurent did indeed make it through. After what felt like hours, it seemed that Laurent’s body had passed whatever toxin had been holding his hostage. His breathing returned to a more steady, normal pace. The tremors were less frequent. His eyes were sealed shut.

Damen dared not move from Laurent’s side. His fingers were twined tightly in Laurent’s, holding them, stroking them. He watched Laurent’s face for any signs that he might wake, praying that he would. 

The physicians tended the wound to Laurent’s side and placed cold cloths on his head to bring his temperature down. All the while, they worked around Damen’s ever present mass, as though he had become a feature of the room. 

Erasmus had lingered as well, not close enough to touch, but with green eyes always watching. Was it some sense of guilt that kept him there, rooted to the spot? Or perhaps some feeling of responsibility? The notion that Laurent was his to protect, to watch over, to keep safe?

“You should get some sleep,” Damen said to him. It had been several nights of waiting out the fever, of sitting in the infirmary. But Erasmus shook his head.

“I want to be here when he wakes.”

Damen studied Erasmus, taking in the soft, boyish features. The determined look in his deep green eyes.

A murmur and stirring from the bed grabbed Damen’s attention, causing his heart to stutter in his chest. Laurent was moving slowly, his eyes fluttering open and drifting around the room. Damen could see a wince of pain as Laurent shifted.

Their eyes locked.

“Damen,” Laurent breathed, recognition dawning over his handsome features. 

Damen moved in carefully, wrapping Laurent’s fragile form in his arms. He felt Laurent melt into his touch, felt those thin arms snake around his back, pulling him ever closer.

“Damen, will you...will you stay with me?” Laurent’s voice was timid, different than Damen was used to hearing. 

He brushed a stray hair back behind Laurent’s ear. “Of course, sweetheart,” he whispered.

Damen felt Laurent shift to make room for his bulky form on the narrow hospital bed. As he lay down beside Laurent, he could feel the tiny tremors that persisted running down Laurent’s spine.

He held Laurent in his arms, stroking him through the shakes. The pressure of Laurent’s fingers in his own felt like a blessing, like a gift he could not possibly hope to ever deserve. 

Erasmus had gone. They were alone.

Damen breathed in Laurent’s scent, pressed kisses to his scalp, whispered, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

His thumb traced the sharp line of Laurent’s jaw, the plush pout of his lower lip. He could feel Laurent ceding to his touch, sinking into it, absorbing it. 

“I thought I lost you,” Damen whispered and Laurent’s grip on his hand tightened. 

“It is not my intention to be lost,” Laurent whispered back. 

“Why would you leave?” Damen slipped a hand under Laurent’s chin, bringing his face up to meet Damen’s eyes. “Why would you do that? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought it was the right thing. I thought I knew who I could trust…” Laurent paused, biting back a gasp of pain. “Not all men are like you, Damianos. I told you that once before. But it seems in loving you, I forgot that truth myself.”

Damen studied him, stroking the side of his face, peering into his deep blue eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Trusting Torveld was foolish. It won’t happen again.”

Damen bared his teeth. “I’ll kill him.”

Shaking his head in response, Laurent cast his eyes away from Damen. “He did what he thought was right. He was placed in a position that demanded sacrifice so he chose the easier path. He chose to save the man he loved from the monster who was hurting him. I was merely a part of the trade he was forced to make. But Torveld now lives with the guilt of that choice. We may benefit from that guilt.”

“Patras?” Damen asked.

“Patras,” Laurent agreed. “Under Torgeir, Patras was aligned to my Uncle. Now…”

“Erasmus told me that Torveld acts as Regent King on the Patran throne until Tormin can ascend.”

Laurent nodded. “Tormin is only twelve. Torveld will hold the throne for enough time to shift the balance. To provide us with an alliance that could break my uncle. But with against the force of Vere, it may still not be enough.”

“What are you talking about? Of course it will…”

Laurent shook his head. “We cannot rely on Patras. Over half of its armies were sent to Vere under my uncle’s command. My uncle will have wiped clean my council and all those loyal to me in my own country. We will have to seek allies elsewhere.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere we can,” Laurent said, nuzzling closer into Damen’s chest. Damen could feel Laurent’s hands trailing the lines of his pectorals, his nose breathing deeply, seeking his scent. 

Damen wove his hands through Laurent’s silken golden hair. He allowed himself to absorb the moment, to feel it deep within his bones. Laurent was alive. He was here. 

“I’m never letting you go again,” Damen said. “Anywhere you go, I’m coming too.”

Laurent smiled against Damen’s chest, his cheeks flushing slightly. “You have a kingdom to rule, Damen. I can’t keep you from your people.”

“They’re  _ our _ people. And this is to be  _ our _ kingdom. Let me help you. You don’t have to take this on alone. Didn’t I tell you that? Please don’t try to fight alone.”

Laurent gazed up at Damen, his face softer, gentler than Damen had ever seen it. With flushed cheeks, he said, “I love you, Damianos,” and Damen couldn’t resist taking Laurent’s face in between his hands and kissing his lips.

Laurent shuddered against Damen, the kiss deepening for a moment before his breath hitched, giving way to a slight intake of breath that Damen knew was pain.

He pulled away, frustrated with himself at his own carelessness. Everything Laurent had been through...Damen was ashamed with himself for allowing his passion to have gotten the better of him.

“Damen…” Laurent stuttered but Damen just smiled.

“Hush, my love. Sleep. You need your rest.”

Laurent’s mouth quirked into a coy smile. “I imagined you knew better than to  _ hush  _ me.”

Damen felt himself chuckle, the first laugh he had allowed himself in over a fortnight...since the news of Laurent’s supposed passing. So much had happened since then. But with Laurent in his arms, the rest of the world could wait.

Within the next few days, Laurent was back on his feet, albeit unsteadily. Damen attributed this marked improvement to the sheer force of Laurent’s will. That and his absolute inability to sit still knowing his uncle occupied his throne.

His first action was to call for ink and parchment, to begin the task of lashing back at his uncle and taking back what was his.

When Damen asked to whom he was writing, Laurent simply dipped his quill back into the ink with a small smile on his face. “I told you we needed allies, did I not?”

Damen nodded. “You did.”

“Damianos, do you trust me?” Blue eyes bore into brown and Damen concedes. 

“With my life.”

Laurent flushed slightly, huffing a small laugh. “We have a few friends still loyal to us. We will need their aid where we are going.”

Damen faltered. “And where are we going?”

“I thought that would be obvious,” Laurent said sternly, his slight blond brows furrowed in an expression of earnest resolve. “Back to Vere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kind words and support! And for following my story! 
> 
> This chapter was a lot of set up, getting us where we need to be. Plot, plot, plot.
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving! I am so thankful for this community! 
> 
> Comments and kudos, as always, are so appreciated!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was harrrrddddd. I'm still not 100% certain I did it justice. Eeeeek.

“Back to Vere.” Laurent felt himself struggle to say it. Vere was where he needed to be. But it was also full of enemies desperate to see him fail. To win, Laurent would have to use every resource at his disposal, to think always one step ahead.

He heard Damen’s breath hitch slightly at his words. “To Vere? Laurent, you can’t be serious.”

“In fact I am. Vere is where we will make our stand. That’s where we need to be.”

“And how do you propose we get in? If any of your uncle’s guards see us, we’ll be captured and executed on the spot.”

Laurent leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest while the hint of a boyish grin played at his lips. “That would require them recognizing us.”

Dark eyebrows arched in amusement, as footsteps treaded closer to Laurent’s lounging form. “You may not have noticed, but you are...quite  _ recognizable _ , my love.”

Laurent felt Damen’s hands stroking his hair then, Damen’s fingers sending shivers down his spine. He dipped his head, allowing Damen to move in closer behind him, to brush his lips over the base of Laurent’s pale neck. His eyelids instinctively fluttered at the feel of Damen’s warm mouth.

“Perhaps to you. But there are ways of hiding these  _ recognizable _ features that you think so highly of. Besides, as far as anyone knows, Laurent of Vere is dead. As far as my uncle knows, I’m still a slave in Ling Torgeir’s bed.”

Laurent could feel Damen freeze, as if hearing those words brought him pain. Laurent glanced behind himself to seek Damen’s eyes, attempting an apologetic smile, before a sharp spasm stole his breath like a knife to his side. He gasped despite himself. His body, despite his mind’s best efforts to the contrary, was still failing him. 

“Laurent,” Damen’s arms were around him before he could protest. “You’re working too hard too soon. You need rest.”

“I  _ need  _ my kingdom,” Laurent snapped, pulling away, his jaw pulled into a terse line. “The longer my uncle is on the throne, the more comfortable my people become with his rule. I need them to know I live. I need them on my side.”

Damen shifted, his brown eyes searching. “So, what then? You sneak into Vere, infiltrate the King's Guard, and dispel unrest among the people?”

“Precisely.” Then, uncertainly, “Have I become that obvious?”

Damen shook his head, meeting Laurent’s uncertainty with a mischievous grin. “I think I’ve just become familiar with the inner workings of that twisted mind of yours.”

“And?” Laurent asked. “What do you think?”

Damen chuckled. “When have you ever before cared what I think?”

Laurent could feel himself stiffen. Things were different now, different than they had been before he had been taken, before he had been betrayed. Before he had had the realization that not caring what Damen thought might have been the worst mistake of his life. 

“I…” he stumbled. “I care very much.” His voice sounded weak, even to his own ears. But Damen seemed to soften at the sound.

“I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth, Laurent. I think any plan you devise, is undoubtedly a good one. No one is more cunning, nor more thoughtful than you.” Damen was close, but since Laurent’s withdrawal, their separation felt enormous. Slowly, hesitantly, Damen leaned in to fill the gap between them, slipping a hand under Laurent’s chin, thumbing at his lower lip. 

Laurent ached to be touched by Damen, to fall back into him and forget the rest of the world, the hateful darkness that awaited them. He longed to soak up Damen’s kiss, to melt into his arms, to hold and be held.

But there was a part of him that reviled at the thought. Wanting Damen was easy, it was natural. But still, he could feel the touch of another set of hands, fingers like daggers that tore into his flesh. 

Unwillingly, his heart began to race under Damen’s touch. Terror shot through him, rising up his throat to strangle him. He gasped, his eyes flashing as he abruptly pulled himself from Damen’s grasp.

The hurt showed on Damen’s face like a brand, and Laurent hated himself for putting it there. He hadn’t meant to do that, hadn’t meant to withdraw so hastily. Not from Damen. Never from Damen. 

“I’m sorry,” Laurent choked out.

“No.” Damen’s features were soft, full of understanding. He shook his head. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have…I’ll give you some time to finish.” Damen rose to his feet, gently stroking Laurent’s hair before turning to leave.He chanced one more glance at the doorway, sighing slightly before slipping across the threshold and closing the door behind him.

Laurent let him go, cursing himself internally. He was alone again. Resignedly, he turned back to the pen in his hand, to the letters that could seal their fate.

Several days later, Damianos was summoned before his council to discuss his plans to retake Vere. Though Laurent’s presence was not requested, he forced himself upright and into the tightly laced Veretian style clothing that Damen had procured for him. 

Laurent followed Damen into the throne room, clasping his hand for support. The pain between his legs had subsided since the attack, but it still nagged, a constant reminder of the abuse that had almost claimed his life. And the wound in his side ached with every movement, a sharp, stabbing pain that threatened to fell him, should he allow it to do so. 

Damen’s assemblage of advisors seemed surprised to see him by their King’s side. Some raised eyebrows in shock, while others showed countenances full of disdain. Laurent knew he was not well trusted among the nobles of the Akielon court, but as he clutched Damen’s hands for support, he willed himself to remain stoic and stern, to ignore those who would doubt him.

He focused instead on the faces he well knew. Heston, Nikandros, Makedon. He kept his eyes on them, knowing them, trusting them.

“My friends,” Damen opened his arms in greeting. “I’m pleased to see you all this morning.”

“Exalted,” they murmured and bowed their heads. Laurent’s eyes settled on a stocky dark haired man all in red, who’s deep set eyes openly bore a look of haughty contempt. He was the first to speak.

“Exalted. And His Highness, the King of Vere. What a pleasant surprise it is to see you. We’ve heard such ghastly rumors of late. Rumors of your demise.” The dark eyes had fallen on Laurent now, the arrogant expression directed at him.

“Rumors often prove false,” Laurent snapped.

The man chuckled, “We are fortunate then, aren't we, Your Highness?” He inclined his head to Laurent before turning back to Damen. “Exalted, I must impress upon you the severity of this council’s concerns. Concerns about what King Laurent’s sudden... _ reincarnation _ will mean for Akielos. As we well know, there is a new King on the throne of Vere. And one who will not take kindly to having his throne usurped.”

“With all due respect, Councilor Artem, the throne of Vere does not belong to the Regent,” Damen said sternly. “He took it under false pretenses, claiming Laurent’s death as the reason for his occupation. He blames me for Laurent’s murder and calls me to Vere for trial.”

“Then he shall be thrilled to know his nephew is alive,” Artem smirked. 

“He is not to know,” Damen said coldly. “This council is sworn to secrecy. The Regent of Vere is not to know that King Laurent lives, nor that he is in Akielos.”

“So we are to keep this news to ourselves and risk war because of it?” An older man, thin and frail with dark skin and a voice like the prick of a needle, gasped aloud. Laurent recognized him as Arminian, the Master of Finance. “You’ll have Akielos go to war for the throne of Vere when the news that King Laurent lives may be enough to satiate the Regent?”

A new voice cut through the council room. One Laurent well recognized. “The Regent wants only one thing: the throne. Should we deliver Laurent back to Vere and to his uncle, we deliver him to certain doom.” It was Makedon who spoke, his eyes daring the other members of the council speak up against him. He turned to Laurent, leveling him a look of sincere resolution. “The notched belts stand with you, Your Highness. We fought the Regent once. We will do it again, this time to his death.”

Laurent nodded his thanks to Makedon. How he had won this roughened old Akielon to his cause was beyond Laurent’s comprehension, but he was thankful for his support nonetheless.

“Do you have a  _ plan _ ?” Artem has cocked a thick black eyebrow, looking every inch the pretentious nobleman he was. 

Before Damen could open his mouth to speak, Laurent pushed forward. “I do. I will go to Vere, with a handful of loyal men. And I will win back my throne.”

Silence. 

“A  _ handful _ ?” Artem looked on the brink of laughter.

Laurent nodded. “One does not need an army to win a game of chess. One needs only the right arrangement of pieces. And the game will be won.”

“If you’ll excuse my frankness, Your Highness. This is not a game of  _ chess _ . This is a nation on the brink of war. You think to sacrifice  _ our _ King so you can take back your own crown…”

“I will not sacrifice King Damianos. You need not worry for your King, Councilor Artem.” Laurent eyed the stocky councilor with narrowed eyes. There was no doubting his intentions. His concern was not for Damen’s safety. The color red, red, red, stood out in stark clarity. Laurent felt, for a moment, that he might be sick.

“Then King Damianos does not intend to travel to Vere with you?” Artem balked.

Damen stood tall, his presence an imposing vision among his councilors. “I will travel at King Laurent’s side. This is a joint kingdom. Therefore, Vere is mine as much as Akielos is his.”

Damen slipped his hand back into Laurent’s as a show of solidarity, and Laurent felt his heart warm. He wrapped his fingers around Damen’s savoring the feeling of being King by Damen’s side.

“And how do you intend to get inside Vere?” Artem spoke again, his voice grating at Laurent’s nerves.

“We have many allies, Councilor Artem,” Laurent answered. “We intend to call on those allies for their support.”

“When do you intend to depart?” The deep, baritone voice of Nikandros rang out. His brown eyes were for his King alone.

Damen looked to Laurent. “As soon as the King of Vere feels well enough to make the journey.”

“Within the week,” Laurent said in answer, his tone clipped.

“I’m coming with you,” Nikandros said, his voice unwavering, his brow furrowed in determination. Laurent knew the Kyros’s purpose would be ensuring that Damen remained safe, but he would take whatever help he could get.

“And me as well,” Laurent looked up to see a newcomer entering the hall. His heart clenched. 

It was Jord. 

His cheeks were pale, his body thinner than Laurent remembered it being, as though in their separation, Jord had been through hell and back. But still he stood tall, his shoulders squared and his jaw set. He pulled himself low into a bow as he said, “Your Highness.”

Laurent wanted to run to him like a child might, to throw his arms around his friend and tell him how happy he was to see him alive. But Laurent had never been one to allow such emotional displays to get the better of him. Now was not the time to start.

He nodded. “I’d be honored to have your assistance, Captain.”

“Then we will begin preparations at once,” Damen said. “Heston, I will leave Akielos in your hands in my absence. I trust you will keep us safe.”

Heston bowed his head, his eyes flashing with pride. “Of course, Exalted.”

Laurent suddenly felt a surge of pain shoot through his stomach and he gritted his teeth to stay standing. He unconsciously clasped tight to Damen’s hand as Damen’s free arm circled around his back, supporting him. He could now feel Damen’s eyes on him, penetrating deep, worrying profusely.

“I...believe today’s proceedings have tried my body’s limits,” Laurent forced out through tight lips. “I believe I will need to retire from further discussion but I should like to regroup tomorrow morning to discuss travel logistics.” He nearly gasped as yet another wave of searing agony threatened to drop him where he stood. Confused and concerned eyes watched him. “I hope you will excuse me.”

He bent at the waist, ignoring the sharp twinge of pain as he pulled himself into a loose bow.

“Your Highness,” came the echo of the Akielon advisors. 

Damen placed a hand on Laurent’s shoulder. “Shall I accompany you?”

Laurent shook his head. “I’m fine. Just...a little lightheaded.” He could tell from the look in Damen’s eyes that his lover did not believe him. “Stay. Your kingdom requires your attention.”

The look on Damen’s eyes told Laurent that he disagreed, but Laurent did not give him time to argue. He pulled himself upright and strode from the hall with all the strength he had left. Once out of ear and eyeshot, Laurent collapsed against the stone wall and allowed tears to prick at the corner of his eyes. Everything hurt. His body, his heart, his mind. He wanted to badly to be strong, to fight. But the ache inside him was overwhelming. He attempted to stumble towards his chambers, though his legs were shaking.

“Your Highness?” Laurent turned to meet the gentle green eyes of Erasmus. The slight young man was approaching hesitantly, his brows pulled together in an expression of concern. “Are you alright?”

Laurent attempted to straighten, only to crumble at the waist. Before he could protest, Erasmus was at his side, slipping an arm under Laurent’s shoulder to support his weight.

“Apologies, Your Highness,” Erasmus said lightly, his eyes averted.

Laurent couldn’t suppress the huff of a laugh that escaped his lips. “You’re apologizing for helping me?”

Green eyes flickered to Laurent’s face, just above flushed pink cheeks. “I...suppose I am.”

“I don’t need to tell you how ridiculous that is…”

“Come. Let’s get you to bed,” Eramus pushed forward ardently, sweeping Laurent up with him in surprisingly strong arms.

By the time they reached his chamber door, Laurent felt woozy with exertion, his head reeling and his body aching. He was thankful, however, for the assistance Erasmus had so willingly provided. As he pushed the door open, Erasmus followed him inside, helping him to sit on the bed.

“May I?” Erasmus’s gestured to Laurent’s laces, a burgeoning red coloring his cheeks.

Laurent nodded and Erasmus moved in, bending to diligently unlace Laurent’s tight jacket. When his white undershirt was revealed, Erasmus gasped, his eyes flickering to the wound low on Laurent’s side. 

Blood was seeping through the soft cotton of Laurent’s shirt. Laurent cursed to see it.

“I can…” Erasmus hesitated. “That is...I watched the physicians...I know how…”

Again, Laurent nodded, wordless.

Salves and fresh cloths has been placed strategically around Laurent’s quarters to make for easier treatment as he healed. Laurent watched as Erasmus delicately retrieved one such ointment and soaked a cloth in the bucket of fresh water near the bed. 

Their eyes met as Erasmus knelt and raised the hem of Laurent’s shirt to reveal his wound. The cool cloth pressing to Laurent’s side momentarily stole his breath.

“I’m sorry,” Erasmus said again. 

“Stop apologizing,” Laurent said, perhaps more harshly than he had intended. He shifted under Erasmus’s hands. “I should be thanking you, not listening to you endlessly begging my forgiveness.”

“Thanking me…” Erasmus shook his head. “No, Your Highness. I will be in your service for the rest of my life to make up for the ways in which I wronged you. Your suffering even now...is my fault.”

Laurent paused, taking Erasmus’s hands in his. “Stop this. You saved my life. You brought Damen and I back together. I’ll hear no more words of forgiveness or fault. Do you understand?”

Laurent hadn’t been sure that Erasmus’s cheeks could turn a darker shade of red, but at his words, Erasmus seemed to flush further. He nodded, swallowing, and Laurent saw his Adam’s Apple bob in his throat. 

“He really loves you,” Erasmus said softly, a slight tremor in his voice. At Laurent’s quizzical expression, Erasmus continued. “I’ve never seen anyone so passionate in their love as King Damianos…”

Laurent wasn’t sure how to respond. This man before him was soft, gentle, compassionate, true. There was no capriciousness, no disloyalty in Erasmus’s heart. He seemed incapable of deceit or falseness. Laurent wanted to open to him, wanted to give of himself and forge a bond of friendship he knew he would be able to trust. 

He nodded, though his heart panged painfully in his chest. Would Damen always love him, knowing what had happened? What Torgeir had done? How far he had taken the abuse? The response it had elicited in Laurent?

“I’ve always wanted something like that love,” Erasmus said, gently stroking Laurent’s wound, clearing it of blood and purulence. Laurent couldn’t help gritting his teeth at the abrasion, despite Erasmus’s delicate touch. “I know that Torveld loves me...he loves me fiercely.”

Laurent looked up then, studying the innocently graceful features as Erasmus continued. “Torveld has so much love to give. He once…loved you. Perhaps in a similar way to what Damianos does now…”

“Torveld loves  _ you _ ,” Laurent said.

Erasmus nodded. “And I love  _ him _ . But...the passion I see reflected in the eyes of King Damianos...in your eyes when you look at him. Forgive me for my frankness, Your Highness. But, I  _ long  _ for that.”

“Laurent,” Laurent said and Erasmus’s eyes darted to meet his, his breath seemingly caught in his throat. 

“Your Highness?”

“You may call me  _ Laurent _ . We are friends, are we not?”

“Yes, Your -!” Erasmus’s squeaked and Laurent chuckled, unable to repress the smile that spread across his cheeks. “Yes, Laurent.”

“You long for passion, do you?” Laurent asked as pressure was once more applied to his wound. Erasmus had dipped into the healing salve and was now spreading it over his torn skin. “Torveld does not deliver on that front?”

“I…” Erasmus flinched as if speaking his thoughts might betray the master who had been so lind, who had risked so much. “I felt that passion once. Long ago...it almost feels like a lifetime ago.”

“Did you?” Laurent quirked an eyebrow in amusement. 

“A slave named Kallias...it was never as...overt as what you share with Damianos. It couldn’t have been. We were both slaves, bound for different masters...but I saw in his eyes, when he looked at me, a fire similar to that which burns in Damen’s when he looks at you.”

“And...what happened to this Kallias?”

A sadness passed over Erasmus’s face. “He died…” He seemed as if he wanted to offer more, but decided against it as he turned his eyes to Laurent’s once more. “You remind me of him.”

“Did you love him?” Laurent asked, his voice tight in his throat.

“I think so...I think I might have been able to. If things had been different...perhaps in another life we will meet again. Perhaps we’ll get another chance.” His eyes were glimmering with tears now, which he hastily brushed away. 

“You don’t belong to Torveld, Erasmus.” The words stunned even Laurent as he said them. These words could mean war, but still he could not stop them from coming. He took Erasmus’s hands in his own, looking deeply into those wet green eyes. “You belong to no one. Damen has decreed the end of slavery in Akielos. You could stay here, become a free man. You could love whoever you choose, give your heart to someone who deserves it.” 

Erasmus smiled sadly. “My heart already belongs to someone. Someone unattainable. Someone deeply in love with another.”

Laurent felt the weight of Erasmus’s hands in his own, felt the intensity of his green-eyed gaze. His cheeks, still pink, bore the marks of tears that had fallen. Laurent gently brushed his thumb over Erasmus’s face, drying his skin with the same gentility he had been shown.

Erasmus leaned into Laurent’s hand, closing his eyes and sighing softly. He turned his head ever so slightly to bring his lips to Laurent’s palm and press a timid kiss to his skin. 

Laurent blinked, his heart suddenly aching at the contact. “Erasmus, you will always have my friendship. I only hope that will be enough.”

“That is more than enough,” Erasmus whispered. His brow was furrowed but still he smiled. “I would be honored to have you as my friend, Laurent.” 

The salve had been administered. Erasmus stood to apply the bandage around Laurent’s midsection. “I’ll leave you to your rest,” he said, but Laurent reached out, taking Erasmus’s hand. 

“Would you stay?” 

Shock settled over Erasmus’s face. Laurent wasn’t sure why he had asked the question. There was a part of him that longed to be near someone who shared his experience, someone who had faced the same trauma and survived. He loved Damen. But Damen couldn’t possibly understand. He’d never experienced abuse of that kind, never felt the emotional and physical strain of unwanted touch. 

Erasmus seemed to understand. Perhaps there was something in Laurent’s eyes that pulled him forward. He awkwardly settled in the bed beside Laurent, seemingly unsure of himself.

“It’s ok,” Laurent said, seeing uncertainty reflected back in Erasmus’s eyes. “I want nothing more from you than your presence.”

“I know,” Erasmus shifted nearer. “I just...for a moment, I thought perhaps…” He shook his head. “I thought perhaps you wanted more…”

Laurent felt his breath catch. “I’m sorry. I can’t give that to you. Damen is...everything to me.”

“I know.” Erasmus nodded. “I hope that one day, I might be able to find a love like that.”

Laurent lifted an arm and bid Eramus to lay beside him, pressed warm against his chest. He allowed the heat of their proximity to lull him into a comfortable slumber, listening to the slow and steady breathing of the fragile man beside him.

He thought he heard Damen enter the room several hours later, stirring at the sound of the door shutting softly. But when he lifted his head and rubbed his sleep bleary eyes, there was no one there. 

“Damen?” Laurent whispered into the darkness. He was met with only silence. He had been so sure he had seen a glimpse of a man’s large form in the doorway. Perhaps he had only imagined it. 

Erasmus shifted beside him, letting out a soft sound of contentment. 

Laurent rose gently so as not to disturb him and slipped through the darkened room, opening the door to peer out into the hallway. 

A dark form was retreating down the hallway and out of sight. A dark form draped in a white chiton, with a golden crown of laurel’s on his head. Damen. Laurent closed the door to his room and followed his lover’s retreating figure, calling out, “Damen! Wait!”

Damen stopped, turning his head and watching Laurent approach with a strange look in his eyes. 

“Come to bed with me,” Laurent purred as he drew nearer, but Damen only smiled weakly and lowered his eyes to the floor. 

“You should get some rest, love. I’ll only disturb you.”

Laurent’s cheeks flushed, stinging with the rejection of Damen’s words. 

“If this is about Erasmus - !” he tried. 

“It’s not,” Damen snapped, his tone clipped. Laurent felt as though he had just been backhanded across the face. He stood stark still, stunned at the coldness in Damen’s tone. 

“I’m sorry,” Damen said, rubbing his eyes. He looked tired, so tired. “I just...have much to attend to before we depart.”

As though seeing the hurt in Laurent’s eyes, he moved in close and wrapped an arm around Laurent’s shoulders, bringing him in for an embrace. His lips pressed a kiss to Laurent’s golden scalp. “Forgive me, my love,” he whispered into Laurent’s hair. “My tone was unwarranted.”

As they pulled away, Laurent nodded stiffly. “Forgiven,” he said and Damen smiled, a curve of the lips that did not quite meet his eyes.

“Go back to sleep, lover. You were barely able to stand today. You need your rest.”

“I’m so tired of resting,” Laurent shot. Damen pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead. 

“Only for a little while longer. I promise.”

Then he was turning away, turning his back to Laurent, bidding him goodnight.

And Laurent stood alone in the hallway, feeling every inch the Ice Prince once again. 

They saw little of each other in the days that followed. Though Laurent longed for Damen, his Akielon King seemed preoccupied with their preparations, with the tending of his own kingdom. And for two nights in a row, Damen did not join Laurent in his bed. 

Erasmus was ever present, ever diligent, always at Laurent’s side. He asked for nothing, but provided a constant support to Laurent, who, for all his icy demeanor, hated the nights alone.

Finally, after several days of prolonged absence, Damen visited Laurent in his chambers, good news brimming from his lips.

The plans were set. They would depart for Vere within the week, with Nikandros, Jord, Erasmus and Makedon in tow. Makedon would bring three of his notched belts with them as well to serve as an armed guard and undercover protection. Their caravan would travel the fastest route to Vere and meet with their contact at an inn nestled within Nesson-Eloy. The same inn they had visited several long months ago as slave and master. Now they were to visit as Kings.

Once stationed and secure at Nesson, they would send an envoy to Arles, to begin the process of overthrowing the Regent’s rule, from the outside-in.

“I’m sure your advisors are thrilled to know our plans have been solidified. In only a few short days, I’ll be spiriting you away again,” Laurent smirked. 

“Heston will keep them in line,” Damen said, leaning against the chamber door. As Laurent observed him, his hulking muscular form draped in a white cotton chiton, he realized his longing, how much he had missed him. 

He forced himself to look elsewhere.“There is one among your councilors who is not to be trusted,” he said, remembering the contemptuous sneer of Artem’s rotund countenance. Damen nodded his ascent.

“Artem,” he said and Laurent blinked. Perhaps his barbarian King had learned discretion in his dealings afterall. 

“You’ve seen it?”

“He’s the former slave master. He’s the most to lose. And he’s been against the transition since it started.” 

Laurent shook his head, his mind wandering. Artem. Artem always dressed in red, red, red. Red like his uncle’s insignia, red like his uncle’s sheets. Red like blood…

“Laurent?” Damen was looking at him now, with wide, concerned eyes. “Are you feeling alright?”

Laurent nodded. He was restless. His body ached. His idle hands craved the feel of a horse’s reigns, the feel of Damen’s hard body, the feel of something, anything to keep him busy and his mind consumed. But Damen had insisted on rest, rest and more rest. So Laurent, still healing, had complied. Though he felt Damen’s absence like a coal burning in his chest, smoldering and all-consuming. 

“Are you concerned at all that perhaps Artem is a messenger to our enemies…? My uncle, in particular?”

Damen sighed. “I had thought of that. Hence my wariness to divulge the details of our travels and the intricacies of our plans at the council meeting. And...I have cautioned Heston to keep an eye on Artem’s comings and goings while I’m gone.”

A smirk crossed Laurent’s lips. “Good. I would hate to have you travel all the way with me to Vere just to have your kingdom come falling to the ground due to an unchecked former Slave Master.”

“It would be a shame to win back one kingdom, only to lose another, wouldn’t it?” Damen asked playfully, winding his arms around Laurent’s waist. 

“A shame,” Laurent said, looking nowhere but at Damen’s full lips. “Yes. But the real shame has been your absence in my bed of late.”

Damen’s shoulders tightened ever so slightly. If Laurent was not so attuned to the subtle movements of his body, he realized, he might have missed it. 

“I’ve missed you, Damen,” Laurent whispered, nuzzling closer, pressing his lips to the warm skin of Damen’s neck. “Why have you been keeping yourself from me?”

“Keeping myself from you? Laurent…” he paused, his body tense in Laurent’s arms. “I’m sorry, I...it has not been on purpose.”

Damen was dropping his hands now, stepping out of the reach of Laurent’s arms. Laurent wanted to reach out, to grasp hold of Damen’s hand, to beg him to  _ stay _ . But pride stayed his hand. He watched with cold eyes as Damen put distance between them, studying Laurent as though he was a strange and intricate puzzle he was unable to solve.

“You’re lying,” Laurent said coldly, his heart pounding ruthlessly in his chest.

“Laurent,” Damen’s voice was strained, his body rigid with discomfort. “Please don’t do this.”  _ Don’t push me,  _ his eyes begged. 

“I’m not a delicate fawn in its first season of life,” Laurent snapped. “You’ve been avoiding me, reluctant to touch me or to be alone in my presence. Tell me why.” He closed the distance between them, fire burning in his eyes, anxiety crawling under his skin.

“What happened in Patras...” The words broke from Damen like an eruption of emotion. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About what was done to you...I rage at myself for not being there, for not protecting you. I’m at war with my own mind, Laurent. With my own heart. I want so badly to pretend that it didn’t change everything. But we both know...that it did.”

Laurent felt as though the floor had been pulled out from underneath him. “It...did…” 

“I love you, Laurent. I’ll never stop loving you. But this...it feels like a wall built between us that I can’t climb. No matter how hard I try.”

Laurent’s hands balled into fists at his sides. He knew it, had known it since the first time that Damen had pulled away from him. He was unclean. He was unloveable, torn apart by the abuse that Torgeir had weathered upon him. Damen looked at him now with nothing more that disgust. So be it, then. 

“Then stop trying…” Laurent said, his voice icy. 

The hurt he saw then in Damen’s face almost knocked the wind from his chest. He hadn’t meant those words, those awful words. He had wanted only to stir in Damen some emotion, to elicit some response. He had succeeded.

“Laurent, that’s not what I meant-!,” Damen tried, his face a grimace of agony. But Laurent felt he was standing on unstable ground. He felt sick.

“Leave me,” he said, his voice cold, his face a mask devoid of all emotion. He placed his hand on Damen’s chest and pushed away, unable to look at him.

“Laurent,” Damen choked out.

“Just go.”

Laurent did not look up as Damen’s footsteps retreated towards the chamber door. As the door slammed behind him, Laurent slumped to the floor and began to sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty...so a lot happened but like...nothing really happened?  
PLEASE let me know what you think. I'm strugglinggg. LOL Next chapter will be much more actiony - the real goal of this chapter was the Erasmus/Laurent/Damen/Torveld love square thing (which...I hope is believeable?) and the separation between Damen and Laurent. Yadayadayada. You get it. I love you. I'm rambling. Ugh. 
> 
> See you next chapter!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got my grad paper doneeee! I'm all buttoned up until Spring :)  
Holiday writing fest, here I come!

On mounted horse, Damen felt the chill of fall rattle through his bones, reminding him that soon, summer would end. The farther from Akielos they pushed, the darker the days were becoming. Damen pulled his cloak tighter around himself, glancing from familiar face to familiar face. Nikandros, Makedon, Jord. A small troupe of men devoted to their Kings, willing to brave the impending storm to bring about peace...and to overthrow a tyrant. 

Their troupe had departed Ios within the week, disguised in riding leathers and form-fitting Veretian clothing not befitting the Akielon custom. While Damen and the others rode upon horseback, Laurent and Erasmus rode together inside a covered cart that had been carefully prepared to suggest a traveling band of cloth merchants, complete with rolls and swatches of bundled fabric within.

It was done, Laurent had said, to hide his pale features from suspicious eyes. But in reality, it seemed to keep them separated and out of sight from one another. 

Since their last argument, Laurent and Damen had not spoken more than a few tactical words during planning. From atop his horse, Damen heard Laurent’s words like a churning storm inside his mind.

_ Then stop trying. _

Had he been so wrong to speak to Laurent about his own misgivings and uncertainties? Damen craved Laurent with an insatiable desperation, but he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, move to pressure him into intimacy. Not with everything that had happened to him, not with his wounds still fresh and his mind still a raging battlefield of betrayals.

Perhaps after everything, Laurent no longer wanted him. Perhaps he had seen Damen’s failure to protect him for what it was: inadequacy, complete and unforgivable negligence. Damen felt the weight of his mother’s golden ring where it lay nestled within the fabric of his chiton. 

Perhaps Laurent had come to love another. One who had been there to support him, to protect him, to rescue him. One who had shared a similar abuse at the same hands.

Erasmus had not left Laurent’s side since they had returned to Akielos. He had found them in bed together, curled around each other in sleep, the picture of angelic perfection, all glowing cream colored skin and devastating features. Once, in another life, seeing the two of them wrapped in each others arms might have seemed an arousing and alluring image, and one in which he would have deigned to make himself involved. But everything was different now. Damen was different now. Laurent was  _ his… _

He hated himself for the thought. Of course Laurent was not his. Laurent belonged to no one. Perhaps that was what made him so seductive. He loved Damen not because he had to, not because he was  _ owned.  _ He loved Damen because...

Damen sighed. He only hoped that Laurent  _ did  _ still love him, that he hadn’t driven a wedge between them that could not be withdrawn.

Their journey would take them several weeks on horseback, requiring several stops along the way. Their path was among the least travelled roads, out of sight of the people so as to avoid arousing suspicion or gossip that might spread. They had time, Laurent had said. But there was still an air among them of discontent and impatience. The sooner they could reach Nesson, the sooner they would be able to begin. 

Each night, they had to make camp to rest the horses and themselves. They carried little in way of provisions, only four three-man tents and enough rations for a few days at a time. Once every other night, one of Makedon’s men would be sent into the nearest town to acquire additional supplies and food, just enough to sustain them for a few days further. 

Most nights saw the men circling around a weak campfire, sipping ale and wine and staring silently into the flames. It was such a small band of them. And all were well aware of the trials they were about to face, the certain danger into which they were willingly walking. Without the raucous and often playful merrimaking of their soldiers to disrupt the gloom, most nights were spent in posterity and despondency. 

Damen’s mood was a constant sour taste he could not spit from his mouth. Laurent would often join the men at the campfire, with Erasmus, looking a vision of elegance in his tight-laced Veretian silks, in tow. The two of them would sit quietly, sipping what Damen knew to be water rather than wine. Often, Damen would see them whispering to one another, sharing gentle musings. Erasmus would allow his hand to settle over Laurent’s in a comforting gesture. Rarely would Laurent meet his eyes. 

_ I love you. I’m sorry. Please come back to me. Please just  _ look  _ at me.  _

Laurent and Erasmus would retire together to the tent they always shared. Before disappearing behind the tent flap, Erasmus would meet Damen’s eyes with an apologetic and knowing look. 

And Damen often found himself the last at the fire, staring into the dying embers alone, nursing his mug of ale and feeling sorry for himself. 

“Exalted.” It was one particularly cold night, several long days into their journey when Nikandros came to sit beside him. His body was warm, pressed close, his mouth a thin and terse line.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Nikandros was stiff, as was his usual posture, but Damen appreciated his thoughtfulness, even if it was brusque and clipped. 

Damen shifted where he sat, unsure of what to say.  _ I said something stupid. I was too afraid to touch him. And now he never wants me to touch him again.  _

That wouldn’t do. 

“I don’t know how to...relate to him…” he tried and Nikandros sniffed, a sound that resembled a snort of laughter. 

“Does anyone?”

“Erasmus seems to be doing a fine job of it,” Damen muttured, ashamed of himself for his own pettiness. 

“Erasmus is a slave,” Nikandros said. “You are a King.”

Damen crossed his arms over his chest, taking another sip of his ale, pondering on the complexities of the man he loved. “Laurent has...experienced things that I...could not ever imagine. Things that no man...no person...should ever have to experience. But he’s so strong. He’s like a mountain. He does not move in the wind…”

“Do you ever think that maybe that is all just an act? A mask he wears to protect himself?”

Damen nodded. “Of course it is. But if I push too hard, will the mask crumble? Will I break him?”

“I know your strength, Damianos. But even  _ you _ are not strong enough to make a mountain fall.” Nik was looking at him with blazing eyes, eyes that spoke truth. “Laurent is not the type to let any man break him. Not Torgeir. Not his uncle. Not even you.”

“But...I…”

“Make your excuses, Damen,” Nikandros’s eyes had once again turned to the flickering flames. “Was it not only a few weeks ago that you told me that you loved Laurent, that you wanted to marry him?”

Damen stiffened. “I still do.”

“Then why aren’t you fighting harder? The Damianos of Akielos I know is a stubborn bastard who wouldn’t let anything keep him from the things...from the  _ people  _ he wants.”

Discomfort settled like an encroaching sickness in Damen’s heart. “What if he...doesn’t want  _ me  _ anymore?”

Nikandros turned his eyes to Damen, a look of exasperation etched over his features. “Damen, are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious - !”

“He’s always looking at you with pining blue eyes, is that what you want to hear? He looks miserable...well, more miserable than is the standard for Laurent…”

Damen blinked. “He’s been looking at me?”

Nikandros was rubbing his temples, sighing heavily. “Damen…”

“Pining...you said? How did I not notice that?”

“Probably because you’ve been too busy feeling sorry for yourself,” Nikandros muttured. 

Damen felt his insides blaze. Laurent pining for him. Laurent watching him when he wasn’t looking. Laurent desiring him. 

“What you might not have noticed...before this  _ arrangement _ between the two of you, no one saw the Ice Prince smile. Much less laugh. Not even his own Prince’s Guard. I’ve heard the stories. What was it, ‘Cast Iron Bitch?’” There was a gentility to Nikandros’s tone. It was both placating and reprimanding at the same time, as if urging Damen to make note, take heed, pay attention. “You make him happy, Damen. You do something to him that no one before you seemed capable of doing. That has to count for something. And for what it’s worth, for all his corners and sharp edges, he seems to have softened a part of you as well. With him, you seem...happier. Less burdened.”

“Lovestruck,” Damen lamented.

“But that’s not it, is it?” Nikandros asked, his dark brows arched. “You’re not a fool. You never have been. Your heart recognizes something in his. Something that binds. I didn’t realize it before. I didn’t realize it until he was returned to our doorstep, battered and bleeding and within a hair’s breadth of death. His heart and yours...they’re a matched pair.”

The admission rattled Damen’s perception of the stoic man beside him. He had never thought of his childhood friend as one to believe in heart ties or “soul mates,” as some Akielons called them. “Nik, I didn’t think you such a romantic.”

Nikandros scoffed. “I’m not. I...wasn’t. I don’t know.” Seeing Nikandros stumble over his words drew a smile to Damen’s face. “Don’t smirk at me, Damen.” His voice was a growl with no real bite. 

“Tell me what changed,” Damen tried, intensely curious. 

“ _ You _ did,” Nikandros said, his eyes meeting Damen’s meaningfully. 

“Me?”

“There was a time when...I might have thought...but that doesn’t matter now…” He sighed heavily, his chest heaving. “What matters is that when you look at Laurent, and when he looks at you...there’s something unexplainable there. It’s obvious and it  _ aches _ . He craves you, Damen. You’re a fool if you don’t see that.”

Damen was rendered speechless.  _ There was a time when I might have thought… _

“Nik - .”

“Don’t, Damen,” Nikandros shook his head. “Don’t waste another breath on this conversation. You love Laurent. So go talk to him. Fix this. You owe it to him. You owe it to yourself.”

Stunned silence fell between them. Damen steeled himself for what he knew he needed to do. His eyes settled on the small cloth tent inside which Laurent and Erasmus had disappeared only an hour or so earlier. 

Nikandros had followed his eyes. “Go,” he said.

Damen did. 

As he approached, he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. What if Laurent did not want to see him? What if he turned him away? Or worse, what if Damen were to accidentally interrupt an intimate moment between Laurent and Erasmus? A bitter taste settled over Damen’s tongue.  _ Please, anything but that,  _ Damen prayed. 

There were soft voices coming from inside Laurent’s tent. Two men in heated conversation. Damen was called back to the time, not too long ago, when it would have been his voice heard alongside Laurent’s, his words advising Laurent’s action.

He cleared his throat. “Your Highness.” He spoke loud enough to ensure he would be heard. “Laurent. It’s me. May I speak with you?”

Silence from within. Then the quiet shifting of a body drawing nearer. The flap of the tent lifted to reveal the bright green eyes of Erasmus. “Exalted.” He bowed his head in admission. “Please come in.”

“Thank you,” Damen crouched to step over the threshold, ducking his head so as to avoid hitting it on the tent flap. These tents were so much smaller than the ones during their campaign to Akielos, travelers tents that due to their smaller size, were much quicker to construct. Being inside meant Damen was in closer proximity to Laurent than he had been in days.

“Your Highness,” he said, his eyes meeting Laurent’s where he was seated on his sleeping cot. He was in a state of undress, his jacket discarded and his white undershirt unlaced. Though his boots had been removed, his trousers were still tightly laced. He looked every inch the dignified noble even in spite of his less than polished appearance.

“Exalted.” Laurent’s voice was cold. But he had not yet turned Damen out, so Damen considered himself lucky. 

“Exalted, shall I give you and His Highness a moment alone?” Erasmus had made himself small and unobtrusive, speaking alone to excuse himself. Damen turned to see a slight flush over his pale cheeks. 

“I would appreciate that very much.” 

Erasmus nodded and dipped into a bow of obeisance before turning to leave. The flap billowed shut behind him. Silence enveloped Damen as he toyed with how best to approach. 

Laurent did not move. Nor did he speak. He eyed Damen as a lazy cat might a mouse, calm and certain of his own superiority. It was he who had the power here.

_ His heart and yours...they’re a matched pair. _

“It has been some time since we’ve spoken,” Damen tried, his voice wavering.

“It has been.” Laurent was cold, his blue eyes shimmering dangerously. His posture was tense where he sat, similar to the way it had been in the early stages of their relationship...when they had been master and slave, prince and prince-killer.

“You’ve quite taken to Erasmus’s company.”

“He is good company.”

Damen nodded. Laurent’s arms were folded over his chest protectively. Damen ached to look at him, beautiful and golden in the flickering candle light. “He is. What were you two…” he hesitated, cautious of overstepping. “What were you two talking about?”

Laurent stiffened further, his back a steel beam of support and rigidity. “You, actually.”

Damen caught his breath. “Me?”

“He feels that...our  _ separation _ is imprudent.”

“Separation.” Damen repeated the word. It felt bitter on his tongue. His heart ached at the thought of it. 

Laurent stared at him, like a spring poised to snap. “What do you want, Damen? To ask after Erasmus? To ensure that I’m not  _ fucking _ him while you abandon my bed?”

A chill of ice cold jealousy washed over Damen at those words. He felt himself tense under Laurent’s calculating gaze. “I did not abandon your bed. You turned me out.”

Laurent’s blank expression cracked slightly over his countenance. “What do you want?” He asked again. “State your purpose and then go.”

“Are you that cold that you would turn me away when I come to apologize?”

“I’ve always made clear the depths of my coldness. If you thought to come to a different understanding, that is not my fault.”

Damen sighed heavily, running a hand through his disheveled curls. “Laurent, this is not what I want. To be  _ separated  _ from you...can’t you see the agony I’m in?”

Laurent, unmoving, studied Damen quizzically like a puzzle to be solved.

“I ache to be near you, Laurent. I crave you. I long for you. Do you truly doubt that?”

Finally, Laurent spoke, his voice softer than before. “Why would you long for someone that disgusts you?”

“Disgusts me?” Horror washed over Damen. “Laurent, what are you talking about?”

“What happened to me changed everything? It’s a wall built between us? Weren’t those your words?” Damen had never seen Laurent like this, his face stricken, his eyes glistening. Damen’s breath caught in his throat now knowing what his words had unthinkingly done to the man he loved. 

“Laurent, my words were unthinking, but your assessment of them could not be further from the truth. You could never disgust me.” He began to move closer but Laurent was retreating into himself, his hands shaking as they clutched at his forearms.

“You don’t know...how I betrayed you. How my body...betrayed you.” Laurent’s beautiful blue eyes were welling, beginning to tear. He refused to look at Damen. 

“You did not betray me, Laurent.” Damen approached Laurent as one might approach a wounded animal. Carefully, cautiously, slowly. But with all the patience and tenderness that he possessed. 

“I did,” Laurent said through gritted teeth. “He touched me, he fucked me. And a part of me  _ wanted  _ it.” His voice was hoarse, almost a sob. Damen watched as tears ran down Laurent’s face. “I was so drunk on his pleasure drugs that my body ached for him to bring me to climax. And he did, Damen. He made me come over and over until I thought there was nothing left.” 

Damen took Laurent’s trembling body in his arms, closing the miniscule distance between them as he settled on the cot. Laurent melted into Damen’s chest but his shaking did not subside. 

“You did not betray me,” Damen whispered. “You could not control your body’s reaction. He drugged you.”

“His hands...felt like my uncle’s,” Laurent choked out. “I felt a child again, terrified and desperate to be touched, to be held. Desperate to feel...anything. Everything. When he touched me, I longed for his hands to be yours. But instead they were my uncle’s. They were my uncle’s all over again.”

Damen held Laurent to his chest, stroking his hair, pressing kisses to his crown. For the first time since Damen had known Laurent, the mask of indifference had cracked open, exposing the fragility underneath. Damen swore to himself that in Laurent’s moment of vulnerability, he would do everything in his power to protect him.

“He won’t ever touch you again. I won’t let him get close.”

“But he doesn’t have to touch my  _ body _ , Damen. He’s in my mind. Toying with me always. Reminding me of the stain of my family. It’s a brand upon my heart. He has me, Damen. He has me. And for that, I  _ should _ disgust you. You should recoil at the thought of touching me. You should turn away, leave me. Separate yourself from me.”

Damen pulled away only enough to force their eyes to connect. Tear stains marred Laurent’s softly pinked cheeks. He leaned in to kiss them away. “He does not have you, Laurent. You are here. With me. I have you. You’re mine and I’m yours.”

Through his tears, Laurent gaped at him, his eyes round as saucers. “Why?” He asked, his voice thick. “Why do you persist to tear down my walls, to break into my heart? Before you, I felt nothing. Before you, I was safe.”

“Safe? Is feeling nothing safe?”

“My uncle will do everything in his power to use you against me. Because he knows that will hurt the most. Because you have, despite my best efforts, broken inside my walls and made a home within my heart. It is a withered, blackened thing, thick with decay and disease. It’s not a good place to make a home, Damen.”

“That’s not true,” Damen persisted. “Your heart is good. It’s pure and true. You and your uncle could not be more dissimilar. I would not give my heart to a man like him. And you have mine. Completely.”

“Damen…”

“I love you, Laurent. Your heart is tied to mine. Can’t you see that?”

Laurent’s eyelashes fluttered, his chest rising and falling in quick succession. He stared at Damen wordlessly, as if working his way internally through Damen’s words, struggling to understand.

Damen caressed the softness of Laurent’s cheek, allowing his thumb to brush over his pink lips. “I’ve known it for a while. But I couldn’t put my finger on it. In Akielos, our childhood stories talk of heart ties, soul bonds that transcend all barriers, connecting two individuals together against all odds. As a boy, I longed for a love like that. I dreamed about it often. But as a man, I started to think of it as nothing more than legend, a story, a fairy tale, and it drifted to the back of my mind. I stopped looking for it. But then I met you.”

Laurent shivered under Damen’s touch but did not look away. His blue eyes burned in the candle light.

“I came to know you and felt something I had never felt before. Your life became precious to me, something I would protect with all my strength. I would give my own life for you Laurent. You are my everything.” 

“You’re mine,” Laurent said, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “I don’t know that I’ll ever be worthy of your love.”

“Stop that,” Damen purred, taking Laurent’s hands in his own. They were cold, still trembling. He coaxed warmth into them, stroking them softly. “I’ll not have anyone speaking cross words about my future husband. Not even  _ you _ .”

Laurent flushed. “Damen...I...I lost the ring. Your mother’s ring. My uncle took it...I’m so sorry.”

The ring was an overwhelming weight inside Damen’s chiton. He gingerly reached inside and drew it into his fist, his breathing shallow, his heart pounding. “Laurent,” he said. “It’s not lost.” He withdrew the ring, holding it out on his open palm. 

Laurent’s eyes flickered down to the ring and then up to Damen’s face once more. “How did you get that?”

“Your uncle sent it to me to prove your demise. He thought to use to hurt me. I want you to wear it. As a reminder that no matter how he tries, he cannot break us. He cannot tear us apart. And when the day comes that I can call you my husband, I want you wear it proudly knowing we have overcome all obstacles, that we have defeated every enemy. And that through all of that, nothing could force me from your side.”

“Yes,” Laurent whispered. “Yes, of course I will wear it.”

Damen slipped the ring over Laurent’s finger where it glimmered and shone as though it was always meant to be there. They both watched it for a moment, the gold twinkling in the flickering candlelight while a heated tension of desire bubbled around them. 

“I want you, Laurent. I desire you. I would take you right now if you would have me. But I was afraid...am still afraid...of hurting you. Of pushing too far too fast. Of dredging up the darkness and reminding you of  _ him _ .” 

A pause and then Laurent’s lips were on his, enveloping his mouth in warmth and wetness.The force of Laurent’s kiss was intoxicating, sending blood to Damen’s head and to his cock at the same time. He was woozy and unsteady as Laurent’s mouth crashed into his, as Laurent’s nimble fingers wove their way through his curls, pulling him ever closer. 

Laurents tongue gingerly toyed Damen’s lips open, diving inside as he sucked on Damen’s bottom lip. Damen moaned into Laurent’s mouth, his hands moving to Laurent’s hips, pulling him closer until Laurent eventually seated himself on Damen’s lap. 

Damen could feel Laurent’s arousal tightly wrapped in the fabric of his pants. 

“I want you,” Damen breathed. “I want to go as far as you’ll let me. But only that far.”

Laurent was kissing him again, running his hands over Damen’s cheeks, caressing him as if he was the most precious thing in Laurent’s universe. Laurent sighed contentedly into Damen’s mouth and Damen cherished the sound, slipping his hands up and under the soft fabric of Laurent’s undershirt. Laurent’s delicate skin under his hands felt euphoric.

Laurent began grinding himself over Damen’s hardened package, the rhythm slow and steady. Damen writhed from below, sliding one hand back to Laurent’s hips and pressing down to increase the friction.

Laurent gasped, panting into Damen’s neck. “Damen, my Damen,” he whispered between kisses and suckling. “I want you. Please. Please.” 

Damen’s hands travelled to the laces at Laurent’s waist. He began deftly prying his trousers open, unlacing them with all the precision of well practiced fingers. Laurent was moaning now, a stifled sound as his lips dragged across Damen’s exposed collar bone. 

And then Laurent’s cock was in his hand, hard and leaking and devastatingly beautiful. Damen traced the tip with the nail of his thumb and Laurent squirmed desperately, his breath coming in short, heady pants. 

“Is this ok?” Damen asked, his voice shaking with need.

“Yes. Yes.” Laurent’s fingers were tugging at Damen’s hair, controlling and deepening their kiss. 

Damen unpinned his chiton and threw it to the side, baring his own cock, and bringing it together with Laurent’s. He took both members in his hand and pumped, the friction of Laurent’s cock against his own sending bolts of electricity through his entire body.

An idea pulled through his mind as he thrust into his own hand with Laurent riding his lap. “Laurent...would you...fuck me?”

Laurent paused, his eyes meeting Damen’s in a mix of trepidation and exhilaration. Damen could see his nervousness in the taut tension of his body. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing beautifully along the slender column of his throat. Damen wanted so badly to lean in and run his tongue along that pale skin. But he held himself steady, waiting patiently for Laurent’s reply. 

After a brief moment of contemplation, Laurent nodded, his face flush and his hands trembling as they moved to the expansive planes of Damen’s chest.

In a quick movement, Laurent lifted his leg and swung his hips, knocking Damen back to the cot on his back. Damen’s member was hard and dripping between them, and Laurent was far too clothed still for Damen’s liking. 

Damen’s hands slid under Laurent’s shirt again, this time lifting it from his shoulders and baring his chest. Hard pink nipples were pebbled in the cool air and Damen groaned feeling them under his fingers. He took one in hand, pinching it so Laurent gasped in response. 

“Damen,” Laurent’s voice was strained with pleasure. His cheeks were pink in a flush that was now traveling down his chest. He was so beautiful like this, so breathtakingly wrecked. Damen felt he couldn’t get close enough. 

“Do you have oil?” Damen asked and Laurent nodded wordlessly, sliding off Damen’s body, kissing every inch of exposed skin along the way. Damen’s head fell back as he breathed out a moan of pleasure. Then, Laurent’s weight was gone from his hips. He felt cold in Laurent’s absence. 

Laurent began digging through a satchel he had prepared for the journey. From one of the folds, he withdrew a small stoppered bottle filled with a clear liquid. Damen’s heart began to race as Laurent drew near again.

As Laurent approached the cot, Damen stopped him, soaking in the image of his debauched, golden King. Laurent’s trousers were still about his waist, unlaced just enough that his perfectly solid cock was exposed to the crisp air. Soft golden curls peeked out just above his erection and Damen longed to nose through them, feeling their softness as he absorbed Laurent’s scent.

Damen’s hands gripped Laurent’s hips and slid the fabric of his trousers down, unearthing the hard lines of his ass. He assisted Laurent in stepping out of them completely, reveling in the beauty of his body, the taut tightness of his muscles beneath snow white skin. Where once it had been unblemished, now the canvas of Laurent’s body was riddled with scars and fading bruises. Damen’s heart panged to see it. The scar at his shoulder where Govart’s dagger has pierced him. The scar to his side where Torgeir has nearly run him through with a poisoned blade. 

Laurent followed Damen’s eyes, his hands trailing his own body as though it disgusted him. “It’s not as it once was,” he said softly. “My body…”

Damen shook his head, his fingers digging into the flesh of Laurent’s ass. He groaned unwittingly, savoring the feel of Laurent’s smooth skin beneath his palms. “It’s perfect to me.  _ You’re _ perfect to me.” 

Without giving warning, Damen opened his mouth and enveloped the head of Laurent’s cock, suckling on it and savoring the delicate salty flavor of Laurent’s pre-spend. Laurent cried out, doubling over Damen’s chest as Damen swallowed him deeper, his fingers clasping the round globes of Laurent’s ass. 

Sharp nails were grating at Damen’s scalp now as Laurent began pumping himself into the warmth of Damen’s mouth. His eyes were closed, his mouth agape in a look so sensual, Damen felt his could come just from looking at him. 

“Damen,” Laurent gasped. “Agh, if you want me...you’re going to have to stop that. I’m...close…”

It seemed almost unfair to bring him so close to the edge and then pull away. Especially with his cheeks so pink, and his body so perfectly poised on the cusp of pleasure. But with one last long stripe of his tongue over the head, Damen released Laurent’s cock. He stared up expectantly, meeting blue eyes blown wide in lust.

“I love you,” Laurent whispered, his fingers tracing the lines of Damen’s face. “I love you so much.”

Damen’s grip on Laurent’s hips shifted as he helped Laurent climb between his legs. Once more, their lips converged, stealing Damen’s breath. Through heated gasps, Damen choked out, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I ever made you feel unwanted. Laurent, that is the farthest thing from the truth. I want you. I want you desperately.”

“Say it again,” Laurent groaned, slicking his fingers with oil.

“I want you.” Damen’s entire body ached.

“How do you want me?” Laurent crooned, his fingers circling Damen’s entrance. 

“I want you inside of me. Please Laurent. I’m desperate for you.”

He was rewarded with one slender digit sliding inside, stroking him as the others fondled his balls. It had been so long since their last time, Damen felt his eyes water. He ground down on Laurent’s finger, seeking more l, seeking friction, as Laurent slowly opened him up. 

“Do you want another?” Laurent’s voice was husky with arousal. Hearing his tone sent shivers down Damen’s spine. 

“Please,” he pleaded. “Fill me. I need more of you.”

He thought he heard Laurent utter a small gasp at his words. Another finger forced Damen even wider. The pressure and pleasure were now mixing together as one, creating an elicit cocktail of desire and emotion. It coiled inside him like a snake poised to strike, like a spring about to snap. He forced himself to ride the waves of pleasure, swapping hard as Laurent’s nimble fingers scissored inside him, hitting that sweet knot of electricity deep within. 

“Tell me you need me,” Laurent leaned in so his breath ghosted over Damen’s ear. “Tell me you need my cock to fill you up.”

“I need you, Laurent. I need your cock. Please,” Damen fumbled over the words, lost as he was to the feeling of Laurent adding one more finger, widening him further still. He felt a tear trickle down his face. In embarrassment, he moved to brush it away, but Laurent’s lips were there to catch it instead. He said nothing though Damen knew he could taste the salt on his lips. 

“Are you-?” Laurent hesitated.

“I’m ready. Please,” Damen whispered. 

And then Laurent was pushing inside him, filling him slowly, prising him open. The burn of the stretch caught Damen’s breath in his chest before all at once tumbling him into a sea of euphoria. It was almost too much yet not enough. He ground down on Laurent’s thrust, forcing Laurent’s cock deeper inside his body. With ravenous hands, he clutched Laurent’s ass and guided their pace, slow and steady, passionate and heady. It was a slow, deep drag that Damen could feel in his core. 

He watched Laurent’s mouth fall open as soundless moans cascaded over his kiss-plumped pink lips. There was a subtle tenseness in Laurent’s body that Damen was sure would have gone unnoticed by most lovers. But Damen was not most lovers. He could tell that Laurent was hurtling towards orgasm, the flush of his chest and the tightness of his grip over Damen’s chest. His arms were trembling. 

But he didn’t want to come. Damen could see it on Laurent’s face: his refusal to let go. It was similar to the first time they had made love, when Damen had used his mouth to draw pleasure from an unyielding ice prince. When Laurent had denied himself climax. 

Damen had had to force him to give himself over that night. 

“Laurent,” Damen slipped a hand over Laurent’s cheek, gripping the back of his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. Against Laurent’s lips, he whispered, “Let go. It’s ok. I’m here. You’re with me. You’re safe. Let go.”

Laurent’s hands tightened over Damen’s pectorals. His eyes were clamped shut. The shaking had not subsided. 

“Come for me, lover. Come inside me. It’s safe,” Damen coaxed, stroking every inch of exposed skin in his reach. “You’re safe. I promise.”

Laurent cried out and Damen saw tears fall from his eyes as orgasm crashed over him. He continued to pump frantically as his cock pulsed inside Damen’s body. Climax hit Damen then, as he felt the wet spill of Laurent’s seed filling him. They came down together then, panting and gasping for breath.

Laurent landed softly at Damen’s side, shaking against Damen’s ribs. He was crying silently, like a little boy afraid of drawing too much attention to himself with his own tears. Damen drew him into his arms, wrapping him in a tight and protective embrace. Perhaps it had been too much. For both of them. But perhaps it had been necessary as well. 

Damen was afraid to disturb him, afraid to draw attention to his quiet tears. The moment of weakness was so rare, so beautiful, so significant, he was terrified to disrupt it.

So he did what came naturally. He held Laurent close, stroking his hair, pressing kisses to his crown. “I love you. I love you. I love you,” he whispered into Laurent’s ear, until eventually his tears subsided.

“I’m sorry,” Laurent whispered. “I don’t know...what came over me.”

“You don’t have to be strong all the time, Laurent. Least of all with me.”

“Tears are foolish. Crying is a waste of time,” Laurent’a tone was hard with disgust. “I learned that long ago. After my brother…” he paused. “I learned that crying would do little to bring him back.”

“Laurent, one moment of vulnerability does not negate a lifetime of strength and stoicism. I do not think less of of you. You don’t need to censor yourself with me.”

Laurent was curled in his arms, wrapped around him so there was nothing between them but skin. Blue eyes looked up at Damen with such awe, such love, he felt his heart could break and be remade anew. “The things you have experienced, the horrors that even now I could not keep from befalling you...I hate myself for not being able to protect you. But you are so strong, Laurent. You didn’t need me to save you. You saved yourself. You never gave in. You never stopped fighting. You’re stronger than any man I have ever met. Shedding tears will not change that. If anything, they make you human.”

“I  _ am _ human,” Laurent said. “I’ve always been human.”

The words startled Damen. They were, of course, and obvious unspoken truth. But hearing Laurent say them brought the man before him into startling clarity. 

Laurent, the Ice King, was human. He had been all along. A man of flesh and blood. Capable of bleeding. Capable of breaking. Capable of falling apart.

“I am yours and you are mine.” Damen said, taking Laurent’s hands in between his own. “When one of us weak, the other will be strong. I want you to know that I will never let you fall. And I trust you to do the same for me.”

“I am yours and you are mine.” Laurent repeated three words, a contented smile playing at his lips. He brought Damen’s hand to his lips, placing a delicate kiss upon his skin. “Thank you, Damen.”

“For what?” 

“For being mine.”

Damen smiled. “Always.”

The days, to Damen, seemed brighter now, with forgiveness having settled between himself and Laurent. Every night, they bedded down together, often too tired to do anything but fall into eachother’s arms. 

Erasmus, it seemed, had taken up tent elsewhere. Damen did not have to look hard to see where. Though most of his time was spent still by Laurent’s side, Erasmus shared sparing moments near Nikandros, who, it seemed, had taken a shining to the former slave. 

Damen watched Nikandros show Erasmus how to tie a satisfactory knot, keeping the horses at bay. They often sat near to eachother around the campfire, and Damen could see a faint flush on Erasmus’s cheeks as they spoke. He even saw Nikandros smile. A genuine boyish smile that Damen had not seen for a long time. 

It felt like looking in a mirror, seeing their interactions. Damen made a point not to interrupt. 

Their travels wove ever further from Akielos. The days grew shorter and the air crisper. Summer was waning. Soon, the cold, still pallette of the Veretian countryside was upon them, bathing them in a sunlight that did not quite warm their bones. 

As the town of Nesson-Eloy came into view, Damen felt the hint of fear creep into his mind. Soon, the game would begin. Soon, there would be nothing to do but fight for what was owed, to rip a tyrant from a throne upon which he did not belong. 

Once inside the city, their band stopped, bringing the cart to a halt Laurent and Erasmus to dismount. The rest of the journey to the inn would be on foot. They found shelter for the horses with the presentation of several gold coins and assured the safe keeping of their cart before moving forward into the city streets, carefully watching for pursuers or enemies in hiding. 

Upon entering the inn, Laurent laid down a bag of gold and spoke directly to the innkeep. “I am Charls, the Veretian cloth merchant and my friends and I are here to meet with my cousin, Charls, the Veretian cloth merchant. Please tell him we have arrived. We would also like to attain several of your best rooms for the night. We have a long ride tomorrow.”

The innkeep nodded, gingerly taking Laurent’s gold. But before the innkeep could move to answer Laurent’s request, a familiar voice sounded in the doorway to the hotel’s barroom, lively and full of unabashed joy. 

“Charls!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this turned into a lovely, mushy, smutty shitstorm and I regret nothing.   
More plot next chapter. I just needed to get these babies back together, you know?
> 
> Hope you liked! I love you all so much :)
> 
> Now that I'm free and clear of my grad classes for a bit, I see no reason why I won't be able to get chapters out a little faster. (Maybe. Don't hold me to it!) LOL


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